A Song of Constellations
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Collection of unrelated nonlinear oneshots about the Black family.:: 29. Elladora finds another use for house-elves. 30. Marius wishes for his family. 31. Phoebe is not a girl. 32. Lysandra has to give up the last piece of the man she loves.
1. Salvation Through Ignorance

_Written for Build the Burrow on TGS (Paintbrush: Write about someone covering up a secret)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

Druella feels her heart drop into her stomach as she processes the news.

 _With child._

It should be a joyous occasion. After all, she and Cygnus have two beautiful daughters already, and they've entertained the idea of trying to conceive a son to carry on the Black name. But it's hardly good news now, not when she and Cygnus have slept separately for months.

She closes her eyes. She had known the affair was a bad idea. Regardless of how much she has always loved Abraxas, she knew from the beginning that it would only end in heartache. She never imagined she would become pregnant with his child.

Druella shivers. She cannot tell Cygnus. He may not be a clever man, but even he knows how children are made. His fury when he realizes that she's betrayed him will be unbearable. She'll lose her family, her reputation, everything.

She takes a deep breath, holding her head high. She is a Rosier by birth and a Black by marriage. She is a Pureblood, and she must approach this crisis with dignity and a level mind.

Her fingers caress her stomach. Abraxas' child rests within her womb. And Cygnus must never know the truth.

…

Druella wears her best smile when she enters the bedroom. Cygnus looks up from his book, eyes wide with surprise. She so rarely comes in when he's awake, after all.

"Has something happened?" he asks.

"I've been thinking, Cygnus. I want to be happy with you. I apologize for my distance recently," she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. Thankfully it does not tremble as her body does. "We wanted a son once. I still want that."

At first, her husband says nothing. Druella tenses. Perhaps it is too late to repair her marriage. She will have to live with her shameful secret.

Then he smiles, reaching out for her. "My darling," he says brightly. "I knew you would come to your senses eventually."

Relief flutters through her chest. She laughs, the faintest of smiles quirking her lips. Sometimes, she thinks, being a woman is most beneficial. Of course Cygnus will assume that she's just been silly and indecisive, as he thinks all women are. His ignorance is her salvation.

She climbs into bed with her husband, accepting the rough kiss he places on her lips.

…

She bides her time, grateful that she caught her pregnancy early enough. She will not start showing yet, and it allows her time to weave her web.

She will tell him their good news, and he will never suspect a thing.

With a small smile, Druella studies her body in the mirror. It will be the first child conceived from love and not duty. How terrible it is that her husband is not the father.

"But he will be, little," she whispers, brushing her fingers over her stomach. "He will be your father, and neither of you will ever know."

But she will know. She will have to take this terrible secret to her grave.

…

Weeks pass before she seeks her husband out. Druella has rehearsed countless times in front of the mirror, learning to school her features to show her excitement, practicing the right tone when she tells him the news. It makes her sick, but it is necessary.

"Cygnus, my love," she says sweetly, her lips pulled into such a broad smile that her jaw hurts. "I have news."

He studies her, brows raised. Slowly, his lips twitch. "We're having another child?" he asks.

The joy in his eyes hurts her. Their marriage has always been so rocky, but he's loved Bellatrix and Andromeda so fiercely, and he would love this child just as much.

Druella swallows down her guilt. "We are," she confirms.

When he pulls her into his arms and kisses her, she prays that he assumes the tears falling from her eyes are from happiness.


	2. Movie Night

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Saw: Write about a witch or wizard watching a horror movie with their partner)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

"What is this?" Andromeda asks, frowning as she pokes the strange wooden box. She turns her attention to the bit of glass in the front, thinking how strange Muggles are. "Some sort of display case? How does it open?"

Ted laughs, though it is not an unkind sound. Andromeda is grateful for that. He could easily tease her mercilessly for her ignorance where Muggle things are concerned, but he looks amused. "It doesn't open. It's a television. That thing here is a VCR. You use it to watch tapes."

"Tapes?"

She knows what tape is, of course. But she doesn't know why someone would want to watch it.

"Videotapes," Ted clarifies, holding up a black rectangle.

Andromeda frowns, plucking it from his grip. It has writing on it. _Psycho._ When she flips it over, she finds two circles on the back. "What's a video?"

"Let me get some popcorn ready, and I will show you," Ted says, placing the videotape in the VCR and hitting a button. "Gotta rewind it first."

Andromeda wishes he would stop delaying. She doesn't like not knowing things. It isn't fair that Ted can leave her in suspense like this.

He disappears into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a bowl of popcorn and pressing another button before sitting down. "I get to show you your first scary movie," he says excitedly.

Andromeda keeps her eyes forward. She wants to ask more questions, but the glass changes. Pictures appear, moving and speaking. Her eyes widen, and she leans forward. "I thought Muggles didn't have magic."

"It's not magic. Just science and technology," Ted explains. "Now shh! It's starting."

…

Andromeda watches as the heroine enters the shower on the screen. The music coming from the TV sends shivers down her spine and she moves closer to her boyfriend. Muggles really are strange if they actually delight in this sort of thing.

A hand pulls back the shower curtain, and Andromeda jumps at the sudden stabbing noise. Blood flows into the water.

"They didn't do anything? This woman was just murdered!" Andromeda demands.

Ted laughs, and she wonders how he could be so heartless. He has some strange thing that allows a woman to be stabbed to death, and he finds it funny!

"Relax, Andi. The sound was them stabbing a watermelon. And that's chocolate syrup, not blood. It's not real," he explains. "It's acting."

Andromeda doesn't believe him at first. She searches his face for the betrayal, for a sign that he's not as pure and innocent as she once believed. But he looks sincere. She relaxes slightly and curls against him, her eyes on the television. "Acting," she repeats, her voice trembling.

Ted puts an arm around her, holding her close. "It's not real," he says again, kissing her forehead.

…

"Muggles like this stuff?" Andromeda asks when the movie ends.

"Some," Ted says.

"They deliberately watch movies that will scare them?"

He nods.

Andromeda shakes her head. Dating a Muggleborn was always a learning experience. Somehow, though, the more she learns, the less she understands. It only makes her want to learn more until she's as well versed in Muggle culture as she is in Pureblood traditions. "Are there more movies like that?"

"Loads," Ted says excitedly. "Do you want to watch another?"

"Are all movies scary?"

Her boyfriend shakes his head and gestures to a collection of tapes. Andromeda approaches them, running her fingers along each one, fascinated by the array of colors. Yes, Muggles are strange, but they are also fascinating.

"I have romances, comedies, romance comedies, science fiction- Ooh! I bet you'll love _Star Wars!"_ Ted says excitedly, his face bright as he grabs tape after tape.

"Why are the stars fighting?" she asks.

Ted rolls his eyes. "Oh, Andi, I have so much to teach you," he laughs before kissing her.

"Lucky you have me for the rest of your life," she says. "Plenty of time to learn."


	3. Perfect Boy

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Yellow Paint: Write about someone being happy)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

Arthur waits for them outside of his home, a bright smile on his tired face. Cedrella turns to Septimus with a knowing grin. Their boy is all grown up now, but she still remembers the exhaustion that comes with the first few weeks of parenthood.

"Mum, Dad," Arthur says, hugging each of them in turn. "I'm glad you could make it."

Cedrella pats his cheek. "We would never miss meeting our first grandson, dear. How's Molly?"

"She's brilliant. She's just changed little Bill."

 _Bill._ Cedrella chuckles softly to herself. She is so used to the old names, the names of constellations and legends. And here is her son with his child. William, better known as Bill. It feels like complete closure, as though all ties with the Black family have been severed with one simple name.

Arthur leads them inside the cozy little home. Molly sits in the living room, a tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. The moment Cedrella sees the newborn, her heart swells.

"Hello, sweet Bill," Cedrella says, smiling so much that it hurts. She squeezes her husband's hand with excitement before moving closer. "Oh, he is perfect."

Bill squirms in his mother's arms, whining. Molly rocks him gently, making soft shushing sounds. "He's a restless little thing," she tells them. "Arthur and I are going to have our hands full."

Cedrella studies the boy, tears in her eyes. His tuft of red hair, the little rolls on his chubby arms, those perfectly pink lips. He looks so much like Arthur.

"May I?" Cedrella asks.

With a nod, Molly rises, carefully placing her son in Cedrella's arms. Cedrella coos at him, rocking him. He really is perfect.

"Haven't held anything as tiny as you in years," she tells her grandson happily. "But don't worry. Grandma remembers how, dear."

Septimus moves to her side, smiling down at the boy. "Remember when Arthur was that small?" he asks.

Cedrella glances at her son. "I do. He was a handful as well," she laughs. "You know what they say, don't you, Arthur?"

"What's that, Mum?"

"Your child will be more difficult for you than you were for your parents," she chuckles.

"Can I apologize now for everything I ever did?" Arthur laughs.

"Doesn't work like that," Septimus tells him.

Bill begins to fuss. Cedrella listens to his cry, amazed that her maternal instincts are still there. She can still listen to the pitiful sound and guess the proper remedy. "Poor dear is hungry," she says.

"I'll feed him," Molly says.

Cedrella shakes her head. "No, no. Fetch me a bottle. You two have done all the feedings. Let me care for him so you can relax."

Molly hesitates, but Cedrella understands. The first stretch of motherhood is an interesting one. It's so busy, and yet you never really know what to do when someone takes even the smallest bit of the burden from you. "Thank you," Molly says at last before waving her wand and summoning a bottle.

"Rest, Molly. I assure you, you won't have many opportunities like this. You too, Arthur," Cedrella instructs.

She takes a seat, carefully positioning her grandson and placing the bottle in his mouth. Instantly, the crying fades, replaced by a soft suckling sound. With a smile, Cedrella hums, a vague memory of a melody her parents' servants sang to her as a child.

"Sweet boy," she whispers as the bottle slowly drains. "Such a perfect boy."

Septimus takes the chair opposite of her, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "You always were such a wonderful mother," he says.

Cedrella removes the bottle, carefully burping the little one. "Let's hope I make a wonderful grandmother," she says, kissing her grandson's forehead.

As the tiny, perfect boy closes his eyes and settles in Cedrella's arms, she can't help but think she's off to a good start.


	4. Be Happy

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Blue paint: Write about someone feeling sad)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

The shouting downstairs pulls Narcissa away from her summer Charms homework. She sets the book aside, marking her place by resting her quill between the pages, and listens, frowning.

She can't make out the words, only the voices. Father and Andromeda. That worries her. Andromeda has always been such a perfect girl; she's always kept her head down and her mouth shut. If something can cause her sister to suddenly scream loud enough for her voice to carry upstairs, it can't be good.

She strains to listen, only capturing little snippets of the conversation.

 _Love. Mudblood. Marry. Shame._

Narcissa bites her lower lip. She doesn't have to hear more. It's easy enough to guess.

She's seen her sister run off with that Hufflepuff boy at school. Andromeda would never admit to anything, and Narcissa was always happy to assume that it was just an unusual friendship.

Now she realizes how foolish she was to be so blind, to choose to be unaware. Andromeda has fallen in love with the boy, and now she is going to lose her family.

When she hears footsteps on the staircase, she grabs her book. Eavesdropping is a sign of bad manners. She must play her part, pretend to be unaware.

"If you walk out of this house, you will not come back! Do you hear me?" her father screams from the foot of the stairs.

Narcissa blinks back her tears. She doesn't want to lose Andromeda. With Bellatrix gone, Andromeda is the only person she has left. With a sniffle, Narcissa wipes her eyes and pretends to focus on her book. The quill trembles in her hands, and her writing looks like a hippogriff has taken over, so she decides against the illusion of homework and tries to look busy reading.

Her father doesn't come up the stairs, but Narcissa can still him rapping against the banister, no doubt waiting for Andromeda to come down again.

The door opens, and Narcissa stares pointedly at her book, turning pages and pretending to find it interesting, though the lines blur together into a long string of nonsense. Her sister sighs. "Don't pretend you haven't been listening, Cissy," Andromeda says dryly.

Narcissa looks up from her book, pursing her lips. "Well, you weren't exactly quiet," she says. "I'm sure half the country knows that you're marrying Ted Tonks by now."

"Are you angry with me?"

Narcissa shakes her head. She sets her book to the side and crosses the room to her sister, throwing her arms around her. Now, it feels safe to show her sadness. Her tears fall freely. Andromeda rubs her back, shushing her softly.

"I don't want you to leave," Narcissa whispers, pulling away.

Andromeda wipes away the tears, a sad smile on her lips. "I know. But I don't have a choice, Cissy."

"I won't have anyone," Narcissa says.

Andromeda shakes her head. "Of course you will, silly. I'll always answer you. This isn't goodbye."

Narcissa turns away, wiping furiously at her eyes. Whatever Andromeda says, Narcissa can feel the finality of this moment. Whatever happens between them, she knows things will never truly be the same.

"Will you miss me?" Narcissa asks quietly, her voice cracking.

"Every day," Andromeda says, gripping her arm and pulling her back for one last hug. "You're my favorite little sister."

Narcissa sniffles, though an almost smiles twitches her lips. "I'm your only little sister."

It's Andromeda's turn to pull away. She presses a quick kiss to her sister's cheek before nodding. "I have to go before Father decides to come up here. I'm sure I'll get an earful about how I'm trying to corrupt you."

"Are you happy, Andi? With Ted?"

Andromeda nods. "More than I've ever been."

"Then it's worth it," Narcissa says, squeezing her sister's hand one last time.

Andromeda smiles. "Be happy, Cissy," she says before slipping out the door.

Narcissa listens to her footsteps as she hurries down the stairs. Her father screams again, but Andromeda offers no response. When the door slams shut with painful finality, Narcissa tosses her book across the room and slumps on the floor, crying for her lost sister.


	5. In a Name

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (pink paint: Write about someone falling in love)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

"You will dance with Irma Crabbe tonight," his mother tells him.

Pollux scrunches his face, disgusted at the idea. "Crabbe? Mother, I swear the whole family has troll blood in them," he says, shuddering as he imagines tarnishing his own good looks by standing next to a beastly creature like a Crabbe. "I might lose my dinner."

His mother glares at him, and Pollux shrinks back. For the most part, his mother is a lovely woman. However, over the fifteen years of his existence, Pollux has learned that her sweet smiles and good manners covers a nasty temper. "The Crabbes are a good family," she says simply. "I haven't arranged your marriage-"

"Yet," Pollux mutters under his breath.

She narrows her eyes at him but doesn't acknowledge his interruption. "-so you should count yourself lucky. One dance, Pollux. For the sake of appearances, humor me."

Pollux folds his arms over his chest. Really, it isn't fair. He is so handsome, so graceful. His mother has a sick sense of humor if she thinks this is a good idea. "One dance," he agrees through gritted teeth. "Only one."

…

His eyes scan the room. Pollux wonders which one Irma is. His mother says that she's two years behind him at Hogwarts, but he doesn't recall her face.

"Are you looking for someone?" Lycoris giggles, appearing at his side.

Pollux turns to his cousin, grinning. "I'm looking for the most hideous girl in the room," he tells her.

With a roll of her eyes, Lycoris ruffles his dark curls. "So vain, Pollux. You needn't take an ugly partner to make yourself look good. You're already the most handsome boy here," she teases.

"It's hardly for my own appearance. Mother insists that I must dance with Irma Crabbe," he explains grudgingly.

"You think Irma is hideous?"

"She's a Crabbe."

Much to his annoyance, Lycoris begins to giggle, gripping his arm to keep herself upright as she doubles over. "Oh, dear cousin," she says fondly, releasing his arm to pat his cheek. "Do not be so quick to judge by a name."

Before he can question her, his cousin disappears into the crowd, still giggling. Pollux swears under his breath. He doesn't bother pursuing Lycoris.

Moments later, a new girl takes his cousin's place. "You were looking for me?" she asks.

Pollux stares in confusion, his mouth open. She is stunning. Slender body with graceful limbs. Chocolate hair falling in ringlets around her head. Eyes as dark as onyx. Pollux doesn't know who she is, and he certainly hasn't been looking for her, but he doesn't mind her company at all.

"Irma Crabbe," she says. "Lycoris said you wanted to see me."

He doesn't understand. How could this exquisite creature be a Crabbe? Still, he isn't going to question it. "Yes. Yes, forgive me. I forgot myself for a moment there," he says, offering his hand. "Would you grace me with a dance, Irma?"

She giggles, roses staining her porcelain skin. "I'd be delighted."

…

As the night grows later, Pollux does not leave her side. She is more than just a beautiful face. She dances with the grace of a gazelle. Her laughter reminds him of beautiful, perfect bells. She is witty and intelligent, everything that he never imagined a Crabbe could be.

"May I kiss you?" he asks when her father calls to her.

"Pollux Black, that isn't proper behavior," she teases, leaning in.

"I'm hardly proper, my dear," he says before grazing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss.

…

"Well? Shall I send word of your intentions?" his mother asks when the manor is empty of guests.

Pollux nods. "Love at first sight has always seemed such a silly fallacy," he answers. "But I am in love, Mother. I should like to court her."

When she leaves to notify his father, Pollux smiles to himself, closing his eyes. He can still feel her hands in his, can still smell her floral perfume. He cannot wait until she is more than just a memory.


	6. More Questions Than Answers

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Dryer/clothesline: Write about someone never getting an answer to an important question)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

Sirius stands, his posture rigid, his wand gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles turn white. "Who's there?" he demands.

He doesn't relax when the figure steps out of the shadows. Once, long ago, seeing his younger brother might have been a relief. Now, with everything that's happened between them, Sirius keeps his defenses up. He will not allow his brother to be his killer.

"I'm not here to fight."

Sirius doesn't believe him. While Regulus might sound sincere, he's always been a good actor. Regulus knows how to fake emotions to get his way. He did it throughout their childhood, always getting Sirius into trouble by turning on the tears and playing with their parents' emotions.

"Look at my hands, Sirius," Regulus says dryly. "If wanted to attack you, I would have my wand drawn."

Sirius relaxes, but just barely. With a nod, he tucks his wand away, but he makes sure it will be easy to reach again should this sudden reunion turn ugly. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Regulus steps closer, and Sirius' heart breaks. His brother looks so shaken. His face is pale, clammy, and dark circles rim his eyes. Regulus has always been a slender boy, but he looks as though it's been weeks since his last meal.

 _Haunted,_ Sirius thinks. It's the only word that could adequately describe his younger brother now.

"I've made a terrible mistake, Sirius," Regulus whispers, his eyes flickering to his forearm. Sirius knows that he isn't referring to his choice of jackets. The Dark Mark is there, covered by his sleeves. "It's worse than you could ever know, brother."

"Tell me. What's so bad that you've come to me?" Sirius asks, stepping closer.

Regulus bites his lip, turning his gaze away. Sirius watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. After several moments, Regulus looks at him again. "I have to do it, Sirius. You'll forgive me, won't you?"

"Do what? What are you planning, Reg?"

He takes his little brother's hand, squeezing tightly. Regulus doesn't respond. He just frowns at Sirius.

"Regulus, you're scaring me."

"You should be scared," Regulus whispers, his voice quivering. "God, Sirius… The things he's done. I'm not sure that the others know."

"Then tell me," Sirius insists.

Silence. Regulus trembles, pulling his hand free and wrapping his arms around himself as though trying to keep warm. Sirius watches, heat flooding his body. Whatever their history, he still loves his brother. He doesn't want him to hurt like this, especially when he doesn't know how to take the pain away.

"I have to do it, Sirius. There's no other way. I have to destroy it."

"Destroy what? Come on, Reg. Tell me. You know you can trust me," Sirius urges. "I'll go to Dumbledore. He can protect you."

Regulus' lips quirk into a ghost of a smile. "He can't. It's my mistake, Sirius. I have to face the consequences alone."

"Like hell! You are my brother. Just tell me, Regulus! What is he up to? What are you doing?"

Regulus closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around him. Sirius feels his chest tighten. Regulus hasn't hugged him like this since they were little boys and Regulus would have a nightmare. "I just wanted to say goodbye," Regulus says. "I wanted you to know that I love you."

Before Sirius can respond, Regulus pulls away, bolting from the room. Sirius gives chase, wand drawn again in hopes of stopping him, but he hears that distinct _pop_ , and he knows it's too late.

"What was that noise?" James asks, coming into the living room, his untidy hair worsened from laying down. "Were you talking to someone? Moony, you here?"

"It wasn't Moony," Sirius answers. "It was my brother."

James frowns at that. "Regulus? What did you do? Hex him into another city?" he laughs, though his face grows serious when Sirius doesn't join in the jest. "What's wrong?"

Sirius laughs bitterly. He wishes he knew. But Regulus had been too scared or too proud to answer, to come to him for help. "Not sure. Something bad," he says quietly.

…

It takes a week for the news to reach the Order of the Phoenix. Regulus Black got cold feet. Regulus Black was murdered; his body wasn't recovered.

"Guess that explains the other night," James whispers.

"Yeah," Sirius says.

But it doesn't sit right with him. If it had been cold feet, if fear had taken over, he would have accepted help. This wasn't just a simple case of abandonment.

Regulus was planning something, something that could atone for his choices.

Sirius doesn't know what it is. Maybe he will never know. He only hopes it was worth it in the end.


	7. Sunshine in the Shadows

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (carpet: Write about someone with a warm personality)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

* * *

Marius tries not to notice the way his home changes when he is officially declared a Squib. His father keeps his distance, as though it might be contagious. Tears flood his mother's eyes on the rare occasion that she can stand to look at him. Even Cassiopeia, his beloved older sister, draws away whenever he's near, as though Marius might somehow make her dirty.

His home becomes cold and dark. He might go mad if not for Dorea.

"Mari!" the girl whines, barging into his room, her lip poked out in a pitiful pout. "Play with me!"

Marius swallows dryly. Though his parents have allowed him to stay in their home a little longer, they've made it clear that he is not welcome. He eats with the servants. His room has been stripped bare of all the luxuries he once enjoyed. But worst of all, he has been prohibited to speak to the others.

"You'll get into trouble, Dorea," he says quietly.

She folds her arms stubbornly over her chest. "I don't care! Cassiopeia won't play with me anymore. She says I'm too little!" she complains. "I want to play, Mari! Please!"

Marius feels his heart ache in his chest. Sometimes he thinks Dorea has to be adopted. She is too warm, his sunshine in these cold shadows. She carries herself with only smiles and gentleness.

"Please!" the seven year old repeats, bouncing on her heels. "Please!"

With a sigh, Marius shrugs. Really, playing with his little sister won't hurt anything. If anything, it might make him feel okay again. "Fine. But not too long," he says, climbing to his feet and moving quickly to make sure the coast is clear. He can't stand the thought of Dorea being punished simply for wanting to spend time with him. "What shall we play?"

Dorea purses her lips, seeming to lose herself in thought for several seconds. It's hardly surprising. The girl has a million games she likes to play, most of which she makes up off the top of her head. After a moment, she takes Marius by the hand, a bright smile playing at her lips. "Read to me, Marius! I want to hear a story!"

Marius glances at the few books his parents have allowed him to keep. His once overflowing bookshelf is now barren. Books important to his family have been stripped away, as have anything dealing explicitly with spellcasting or potions. "I hardly have anything to read at all," he tells her.

With a roll of her eyes, Dorea hurries over to the shelf, frowning as she examines the books. "It's hardly fair. You love reading," she says. "They shouldn't have taken your books."

Again, his heart breaks. Her innocence is so refreshing in such a grim home. He fears it will get her into trouble one day. After all, even Marius the Squib knows that Blacks aren't known for their warmth and kindness.

Dorea finally plucks a book from the shelf, and Marius smiles. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ He accepts and flips through the pages. "What would you like to hear?"

"The stump!" she giggles, clapping her hands together. "The stump!"

Marius sits on his mattress, smiling to himself as his little sister climbs into his lap. Yes, he thinks, without his lone sunshine in this miserable place, he would definitely go mad.


	8. Goodbye

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (fireplace: Write about the use of the Floo Network)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _For Maisie._

* * *

Druella stands at the fireplace, hands trembling. She takes a deep breath, but it fails to steady her nerves. With a sigh, she wipes a tear from her eye, unsure if she can do this.

The letter from Acanthia Malfoy rests in her pocket. Though it is little more than a strip of parchment, it feels heavy.

 _He's asking for you. He doesn't have long._

Swallowing dryly, Druella takes a pinch of the Floo Powder and steps into the fireplace, dropping the powder and reciting the address for Malfoy Manor.

…

Acanthia fixes her with cold eyes, her posture stiff. Druella doesn't blame her, of course. They were friends once, but their willingness to share everything did not extend to Abraxas.

"At least I know you won't sleep with him again," Acanthia says coldly, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm sure even you wouldn't stoop so low."

"Acanthia-"

But Druella can't bring herself to finish her sentence. What is there to say? She does not regret her affair with Abraxas, only that her old friend was hurt. No words can make up for her betrayal, so Druella stays silent.

"I believe you remember the way to the bedroom," Acanthia adds before turning her back to Druella. "Be brief."

Druella nods, blinking rapidly to keep from crying. Forcing herself to keep her head held high, she places a hand on the banister, climbing the stairs until she reaches the hallway.

 _You can do this,_ she thinks. _It's only Abraxas._

Only Abraxas. She almost laughs. Only the man she fell in love with all those years ago. Only the man she longed to marry. This should have been her home, but Cygnus asked first, and her father obliged.

One step at a time. She can do this. She has to do this.

But part of her doesn't want to. She knows that when she opens that bedroom door, she will not see Abraxas as she wants to remember him. He will not be the smiling blond boy of her dreams, but a sick old man caught in death's embrace.

Now, she doesn't bother trying to hide her tears. She deserves a moment of weakness and vulnerability. Abraxas is the only man she's ever loved. Her pain is just as justified as Acanthia's.

Druella hesitates outside the door, hands trembling. She forces herself to turn the knob and step inside.

"I did not think Acanthia would deliver my message," Abraxas says, his voice hoarse and brittle.

Druella chokes out a sob. Her beautiful, strong Abraxas has been reduced to skin and bones. She's never seen anyone so frail, and she's afraid to step closer, as though a single footstep can cause him to shatter. "Abraxas," she whispers.

He holds out a hand to her, wincing with the effort. "Dru," he says.

She hesitates but manages to move closer. Carefully, she takes his hand. "Are you hurting?"

His lips twist into a ghost of a smile. "The potions keep me comfortable enough," he rasps. "Everything is better now that you're here."

"Still a charmer," she says, her voice breaking. She looks away with a sniffle. "Abraxas-"

"No. No time for tears, my love," he says. "I always swore I'd be the one to never make you cry."

She shakes her head, turning her gaze back to him. "You never did," she assures him.

His smile becomes stronger now. He pulls her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Then I've lived my life well."

Silence hangs between them. Druella has missed this. She's spent years wishing for this kind of intimacy with Cygnus. Now, she has it again, and she is all too aware of how wrong it is. Somehow, she doesn't care.

"I don't have long," he says after several long moments.

"Are you at peace?"

Abraxas laughs, the sound breaking off into a coughing fit. "Now that I've seen you again, yes."

Before Druella can reply, Acanthia bursts into the door, eyes wild. Druella wonders if she's been waiting outside this whole time. "You've upset him," she says sharply. "Out. Now!"

"Pipe down," Abraxas snaps.

"Out!"

Druella turns, blinking back tears as she hurries to the door. As the door closes, she hears Abraxas' gentle voice for what she knows will be the last time. "I will wait for you."

…

Druella steps out of the fireplace, wiping her eyes furiously.

Cygnus sits in his favorite arm chair, brows raised. "Druella, love?"

She swears softly under her breath, smoothing out her robes. She had hoped to have a moment to compose herself before having to face anyone else.

"What's wrong?" her husband asks.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye."


	9. Accidental Friends

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Toilet: Write about Moaning Myrtle)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Word Count 767_

* * *

"I'm not going in there," Walburga says firmly, folding her arms over her chest to show that her mind cannot be changed.

Orion and Cygnus exchange smirks. "You have to. That's how dares work," Cygnus says with a roll of his eyes.

"But it's haunted… by a _Mudblood_ ," Walburga insists with a shudder.

She looks desperately at the small circle of her classmates, but no one shows any sympathy. Even Druella looks ridiculously apathetic about her best friend's conundrum. Walburga swallows dryly. It's hardly fair. She shouldn't have to face that wretched Mudblood.

Orion offers her hand a gentle squeeze. "Go on, Wally," he says lightly. "Ten minutes is all it takes."

Walburga sucks in a deep breath. With a scowl, she shrugs and steps forward, deliberately shoving Cygnus with her shoulder to force him out of her path. There is no choice. She'll have to go through with this ridiculous dare, so she may as have some shred of dignity about herself. She keeps her head held high, and though she wants even a small reassurance, she doesn't look back at her group of friends.

…

At first, it's quiet. Walburga hovers by the sinks, waiting. Nothing.

She scowls, mentally scolding herself for being so afraid. It was all just a story. The pathetic girl doesn't really haunt the loo. All she has to do is just wait out the five minutes in peace, and everything will be fine.

"Oh. Here to gloat then?" comes a whine.

Walburga groans, reluctantly turning her attention to the stall. She never bothered to spare even a second glances at Myrtle, but there's no denying that it's her. Pitiful girl, ugly and bespectacled. "And why would I gloat?" she asks flatly.

Myrtle hovers over the stalls, her eyes narrowing at Walburga. "You never liked me. No one did. I'm sure you were quite happy when I died."

Truthfully, none of the Slytherins really noticed at all. The other Houses wore masks of pity and sympathy. Even Olive managed to shed some tears. But the unexpected death meant so little to Walburga in the long run.

Walburga shrugs.

"Then why are you here?" Myrtle demands, hovering a little too close for comfort.

Walburga has always hated ghosts. Even at a close distance, she can feel the chill roll off them. She shudders.

"Because-"

She stops herself, lips pulled into a deep frown. Admitting that it's all a dare, that everyone has heard her shrieking, will only cause the pitiful thing to have another fit. Walburga can't risk it since she still has at least another five minutes before the dare is complete.

The Slytherin takes a deep breath before offering the ghost her best smile. "Because I wanted to see how you were doing," she says sweetly.

Myrtle flitters back, frowning, brows raised suspiciously. "Why would you care?" she snaps.

Walburga deflates slightly. She should have known the explanation would seem flimsy. After all, Walburga never cared for the girl in life. Why should she now?

Somehow, she manages to keep her lips forced into a smile. "Sometimes I hear you screaming whenever I pass by," she says. "It's such a sad sound, and my heart breaks."

The words almost make her want to laugh, but she maintains her composure. Myrtle hesitates, her eyes wide. For a moment, Walburga is afraid she might sob again. She prepares to plug her ears.

Instead, Myrtle lets out a delighted squeal. "You really do care!"

…

"Wally, you know your dare was only for ten minutes, right? It took you an hour!" Orion says, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell were you doing in there?"

Walburga freezes, caught off guard. She had hoped the others wouldn't be around to burden her with questions. Awkwardly, her fingers fumble with her tie, a nervous habit. "Really? How time flies?"

"Didn't hear the thing screaming and crying," Cygnus sneers. "What did you do? Sit down to gossip with her and fix her hair?"

Admittedly, his joke is close to the truth. In order to keep up the illusion and keep Myrtle quiet and happy, Walburga had to put on an act. She'd sat around, listening to Myrtle complain about her death, about Olive, about the rest of the the school.

"I filled my dare," Walburga says simply, pushing past her friends with narrowed eyes and scowling lips.

"Wait! Walburga! What's she like?"

"Did she throw anything at you?"

Walburga picks up her speed. She doesn't want to give them details. Mostly, though, she'll never let them know that maybe Myrtle is an okay girl.


	10. Fly Away

_For the Build the Burrow on TGS (fan: Write about someone learning to fly for the first time)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Word Count: 795_

* * *

"Uncle Alphard?"

Alphard glances down at the gentle tug on his robe. Five year old Sirius peers up at him with those kind, grey eyes. The older wizard smiles fondly, ruffling the boy's dark hair. "What is it?" he asks, glancing around the family gathering, wondering where Walburga and Orion are.

"Can you teach me to fly?" the boy asks. "Mother says you're the best in the family."

He grins at that. It's an exaggeration, of course, but his dear sister has always enjoyed embellishing the feats of the family, making everyone seem far more interesting than they actually are. Still, it's enough to warm his heart. "Now?"

Sirius nods, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Please? I want to be as good as you! Maybe even better! I wanna learn to fly, Uncle Alphard!" he says, the words passionate, strung together in a single, eager breath.

Alphard considers. It doesn't seem right to take this moment away from Orion. Then again, his brother-in-law has never cared much for flying in the first place. With a shrug, he takes the child's hand. "May as well," he says, guiding him along through the small crowd. "I find these gatherings quite boring anyway."

"Boring," Sirius agrees.

…

He's happy to find that Cygnus has a set of broomsticks. It saves him the trouble of having to Apparate home to gather his own. He's already had a bit of wine for the evening, and the idea of getting splinched makes him shudder.

Alphard guides Sirius along, his heart swelling with pride as the boy manages to summon the broom to his hand on his fourth try. Maybe Sirius isn't a natural, but he has so much potential. "Good," he says as Sirius mounts the broom. "Now, this is the tricky part since you're so little…"

"I'm not little! I'm five," Sirius pouts, his bottom lip poking outward.

Alphard rolls his eyes. He considers arguing but quickly realizes it will be a losing battle. "My apologies," he says dryly, an amused smile on his lips. "The point is, you have to be as careful as possible when you kick off. Your mother would kill me if we had to retrieve you from Mars."

His nephew's eyes widen at that, twinkling with boyish fascination, before softening with a darker emotion Alphard can't quite place. He shrugs it off. If Sirius wants to talk about anything, he will. There's no need to push someone, especially since the boy is as stubborn as Walburga already.

"Like this?" Sirius asks, bending his knees ever so slightly and lifting off. "Look! I'm doing it!"

Sure enough, Sirius hovers about ten feet off the ground. He clutches the broomstick for dear life, eyes wild.

Alphard lets out a chuckle. "Loosen your grip. It's like a horse, boy; you have to keep your nerves steady, or you'll get hurt."

Sirius nods. His grip loosens, but fear still wars with pride in his eyes.

"Follow me," Alphard coaches, taking a few steps back. "Guide the broom."

It takes several moments. The broom shifts this way and that, like a confused puppy who can't figure out which owner it wants to run to. Sirius overcomes it; slowly, he guides the broomstick alone. "Look, Uncle Alphard! Look!" Sirius squeals proudly, clapping his hands together.

That's all it takes. In that flicker of a moment, when Sirius' attention shifts elsewhere, the balance changes. The broomstick shifts, and Alphard feels stuck in a nightmare as he watches his nephew fall. He rushes forward, arms outstretched. By some miracle, the boy lands in his arms.

"Flying is about concentration," Alphard says, his voice harder than intended, intensified by the fear that still grips him. "Don't ever lose your focus, boy!"

Sirius sniffles, wiping his eyes. Guilt makes Alphard soften. He kneels so that he and his nephew are eye level. "I didn't mean to," Sirius sniffs.

"I know, kid. I know," Alphard sighs. "Come on. Let's see if they've brought the cake out yet."

Sirius nods, taking the older man's hand. Alphard smiles to himself as they walk back through the field, to the manor. The boy is quiet for most of the walk until they near the door. "Could I really fly all the way to Mars?"

"Nah. I was only teasing you," Alphard assures him.

"Oh," Sirius says, and there's no denying the disappointment in that single syllable.

Alphard wants to ask, but a little voice in his head tells him that it's not his place. He gives his nephew's hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a gentle smile. Maybe it isn't his place to ask, but he can still do something. He can still be there for Sirius, and he makes a vow to himself that he always will.


	11. Wedding Bells

_For the Build the Burrow on TGS (Photographs: Write a family fluff piece)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Word Count: 653_

* * *

Charis stands before the mirror, turning this way and that, admiring the fine silk gown clinging to her slender flame. She brushes a finger over the floral design around her neckline, a smile on her lips.

"Such a beautiful bride," Callidora says, moving behind the younger girl. "Caspar is quite a lucky man."

A small bubble spills from Charis' lips. Her cheeks stain a soft, delicate pink. "A blushing bride," she adds.

Callidora smiles and guides the younger woman onto a stool. Without another word, she behind to brush out Charis' chestnut waves. Charis closes her eyes, nostalgia tugging at her heart. Suddenly, she's a little girl again, safe and sound as her sisters giggle and play with her hair. Not for the first time, she misses Cedrella, but she keeps her longing to herself. This is her wedding day, not a day for tears.

When the bristles no longer tug at her strands, Charis opens her eyes again. Callidora immediately begins pulling her hair into sections, a warm smile on her lips. "Are you nervous, Charis?" she asks, pulling and twisting the sections of hair with a grace Charis' clumsy fingers could never manage.

"Why would I be nervous? It's only one of the biggest milestones in a woman's life." She tries to keep her tone light, joking, but her traitorous voice is a bit too shrill for her liking.

"It's okay to be nervous," her sister assures her, piling a section of hair on top of her head and sculpting it. "I was nervous when I married Harfang."

"You looked so calm."

Callidora catches her gaze in the mirror, a faint smirk playing at her lips. She shrugs before continuing onto the next section. "We're Blacks," she reminds her. "Blacks carry themselves with poise, regardless of the situation."

Charis swallows dryly. She doesn't feel particularly graceful. She's always been a bit rough around the edges compared to her sisters. Now, her nerves are on edge, and she doesn't think she can manage to fake it.

"Just remember that you love him," Callidora advises. "Remember that Caspar has your heart, and the two of you will have a beautiful, happy future together."

The younger woman nods. She straightens her posture, taking a deep breath. If not for her sister, Charis is certain she would be a complete mess right now. Then again, that is hardly surprising. She's always had Cedrella and Callidora to guide her.

Silence hangs between them as Callidora busies herself. After what feels like an eternity, the older woman secures the last of Charis' hair, beaming brightly. "Done," she says proudly.

Charis' jaw falls slack; she barely recognizes herself in the mirror. She's never felt particularly beautiful, but now there's no denying it. Callidora has worked some strange magic that Hogwarts could never teach them. Charis has been transformed into some lovely, elegant creature.

She turns, pulling Callidora into a hug, a shaky laugh escaping her throat. "Thank you," she whispers.

Callidora pats her back. "Head high, shoulders back," she reminds her. "Even if this is your last moment as a Black, you will always have that blood in your veins."

Charis pulls away, nodding. Somehow, her anxiety seems to melt. A more genuine smile pulls at her lips. "Thank you," she whispers.

"You're my favorite little sister," Callidora says.

Charis giggles. "Your _only_ little sister."

Callidora rolls her eyes before pressing a slender finger to her lips. "Shh. Let me have my moment."

"Charis?" Their mother enters the room, holding a hand over her heart when she sees her youngest daughter. "Beautiful."

Charis feels her cheeks grow hotter. Tears cling to her lashes, but she quickly blinks them away.

"It's time, darling."

Charis looks at Callidora one more time. She adjusts her posture, smiling as she grabs her bouquet. Powered by her sister's love, she starts for the door, ready to begin this new chapter in her life.


	12. Goodnight, My Love

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Bed: Write a story featuring the Draught of Living Death potion)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Word Count: 535_

* * *

"Ursula? Ursula, darling?" Phineas cries, rushing to his wife's side.

Ursula cries out, writhing on the bed. Her once beautiful green eyes are now milky, and he isn't sure if she can even see him. With a scream, she grips the sheets, her knuckles going white.

"Drink, darling," he says, retrieving a vial from the bedside table. "Something for the pain."

He presses the vial to her lips, carefully tipping it back so that the honey golden liquid spills into her mouth. In the early days of this cursed illness, the elixir worked within seconds. Now, it's slower, and Phineas has noticed more and more that it only seems to dull the pain.

"Phineas."

His heart breaks. Her voice is dry, raspy. Once, she spoke with the gentle tones of an angel, but those days have long since passed.

She lifts a skeletal hand, placing it on Phineas' arm, her grip weak. "I'm so… tired…"

He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The skin feels so thin beneath his his lips, more like the gossamer wings of a dragonfly than the familiar warmth of his best friend and wife. "Sleep," he whispers, pulling away and adjusting the blanket, making sure she's warm enough.

A cracked lips pull into a sad smile. "Not… Not what I… meant," she whispers.

"Don't… Ursula, I cannot lose you," he says firmly.

"So tired. It hurts."

"Ursula, darling."

He doesn't want to let go, but maybe there's nothing left to do. All he knows is that seeing her suffer like this makes him pray for his own death so that he may be spared seeing his beloved this way.

"Help… Help me."

…

Phineas grips the clear potion, brushing his fingers over the stopper. The Draught of Living Death.

Ursula's days will still be painfully limited, but at least she will spend them in a painless slumber. Phineas knows that it's the kindest route to take, but it hurts him to even think about it.

With a sigh, he faithfully returns to his wife's side. "I love you," he says.

She reaches up, taking his free hand. "I know. Such a… Such a good… man," she manages between small gasps. "I love you."

"Something better for the pain," he tells her, producing the potion, tears clinging to his lashes. "You'll be able to sleep soon, my love."

"So tired…"

"I know. I know."

He hesitates, torn. He doesn't want to say goodbye yet, but when he gives her the potion, she'll be very much like a corpse. Still, he doesn't want to remember her like this. He doesn't want his last memories of her to be filled with screaming and agony.

Phineas kisses her gently, his tears spilling from his eyes, leaving tiny puddles on her cheeks. When he straightens again, he opens the Draught of Living Death. It's just a sleep. Just a deeply sleep. But no matter how much he reminds himself of this, his mind does not settle.

He tips the contents into her mouth. Within seconds, her body goes slack. Her eyes flutter shut. For the first time in months, Ursula looks peaceful.

Phineas brushes his fingers through her silver hair. "Goodnight, my love."


	13. Ruined

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Dressing table: Write about a well dressed character ruining their robes)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Also for the One Character, One Prompts Challenge (Cassiopeia Black, fire)_

 _Word Count: 582_

* * *

Cassiopeia smooths her hands over her new silver-white robe, a proud smile on her lips. With her sister due to arrive any moment now, she has to look a nice as possible, and the neat, elegant robe practically scream sophistication.

With a wave of her wand, the witch summons a fire in the fireplace. Another flick of her wrist brings forth a bottle of wine and two glasses. Cassiopeia checks the glasses, pleased to find that they look pristine, not a single smudge on the glistening crystal.

Being unmarried, she has to look impressive. After all, Charlus can give Dorea anything she wants. With no husband of her own, Cassiopeia feels the need to go out of her way to show her younger sister that she's done well by herself.

The witch gives the sitting room one last sweeping glance, thrilled to see that it looks like a place that would make their parents proud. She only hopes Dorea can appreciate the wonderful life that Cassiopeia has built for herself.

…

"Cassi!" Dorea throws her arms around her older sister as though they haven't seen each other in years; it's only been a month. "You look lovely."

Cassiopeia grins, twirling so that her robe flares out and wraps around her slender figure. "The finest Chinese silk," she brags, leaning in closer. "Go on; touch it."

Dorea hesitates, seemingly taken aback by the invitation. After a moment, she obliges, nodding. "Very nice."

"The finest," Cassiopeia repeats, gesturing for Dorea to have a seat in front of the crackling fire. "You ought to have Charlus buy you a set. We could be twins."

Dorea shrugs. Cassiopeia fights a scowl. It isn't fair. Shouldn't her younger sister look impressed? Well, the visit isn't over; Cassiopeia will find a way somehow.

She waves her wand, filling the glasses with a sweet red wine. "You must try this, Dorea, darling," she says sweetly, lifting her glass and inhaling the fruity notes of the drink. "The Italians certainly know how to make a good wine."

Dorea sips quietly. She nods. "That's very good," she agrees, but she still doesn't seem to be in awe of her older sister.

Cassiopeia takes a steadying breath. It's fine. Dorea has always been able to hide her jealousy. Cassiopeia has to assume that's the case now.

She turns her attention to the fireplace, watching the yellow and orange flames dance and consume the log. "It's just like old times," she chuckles. "Except we're grown now. Wine instead of cocoa." She lifts her glass for emphasis. The contents splash around at the sudden shift, and Cassiopeia watches in mute horror as the red liquid leaps from the glass and splatters onto her precious silk robe.

Dorea stares in silence for a moment. After several seconds, she lets out a choked laugh. "Oh, this is perfect."

"Perfect?" Cassiopeia snaps. "My robe-"

"Stains lift. I have a potion for that," Dorea assures her, still laughing at Cassiopeia's misfortune. "Honestly, that's what happens when you try to show off."

"I wasn't-"

"Cassi, you idiot," Dorea says fondly, shaking her head. "I know you better than you think. I can see through you."

Cassiopeia tries to glare at Dorea, but her lips quiver, forming a smile. She must look so silly now. A small laugh bubbles from her throat. "Did I impress you? Tell me I at least succeeded," she says.

Dorea rolls her eyes. "You're my big sister," she reminds her. "I'm always impressed by you."


	14. Let Go

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (Wallpaper: Write about someone being frustrated)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Also for the One Character, One Prompt challenge (Callidora, doom)_

 _524 words_

* * *

"Can't you just keep it a secret?" Callidora demands, stamping her foot in frustration.

Cedrella rolls her eyes, an almost amused smile on her lips. "Of course, dear sister," she says dryly. "It'll be easy to hide an entire marriage."

Callidora feels a lump in her throat at that last word. _Marriage._ Cedrella entertaining a blood traitor like Septimus Weasley is one thing. Maybe it's even adorable to watch her sister be courted by someone who is not worthy of her. But marriage? Surely Cedrella is joking.

"Funny," Callidora says, swiping the air with her hand. "You actually sounded serious for a moment there."

"I am."

Callidora shakes her head, trying to ignore the sudden pressure that seems to fill the room, the unshakable feeling of impending doom. Her eyes shift to her sister's face, desperately searching for some sign that she's joking. Cedrella remains calm and collected; there is nothing in her eyes that betray some cruel punchline to this joke.

The older lets out a growl, unable to stand the unfairness of the situation. Her wedding is in a month. If Cedrella goes forward with this scandalous revelation, her beloved sister won't be there to witness what should be a joyous occasion.

She reaches out, taking Cedrella by the hand, her lips quivering. "Cedrella, please," she begs. "Reconsider! What sort of life can a _Weasley_ give you?"

Her sister jerks her hand free. Her normally warm green eyes harden. Callidora realizes, much too late, that she shouldn't have spoken so harshly. "He can give me a happy life," she says simply, her voice like ice. "Shouldn't that be enough for you, Calli?"

Callidora scowls, growing more frustrated. She shouldn't be faced with this. She loves her sister dearly, but she also knows that marrying a Weasley will destroy her reputation. Cedrella will be removed from the tapestry, and she won't be able to attend Callidora's wedding.

Worse still, Callidora knows she's being selfish. She should value her sister's happiness over anything else. After all, she and Cedrella have been close their entire lives. Callidora knows her sister better than her own mind.

With a growl, she sweeps her foot forward, kicking the wall. The jolt of pain that shoot through her ankle doesn't matter. At least she's had even a brief outlet for her frustration.

That overbearing sense of doom creeps over her again. Callidora shudders. She can't allow herself to think of that now. Cedrella's happiness is on the line.

"Does it bother you that you will lose your family?" Her tone is softer now as she takes her sister's hand.

"Of course. But I love him. If I could have both, I would."

The injustice of the situation sets in. Cedrella won't turn her back on the family; the family will turn their backs on her.

Tears swim in her eyes as she pulls her sister in a hug. "I wish you would stay," she says softly. "I wish I could keep you here."

Cedrella returns the hug. Callidora feels her heart breaking as she realizes this might be her last moment with her.

"I love you, Calli."

"Be happy."


	15. End of the Year

_For Build the Burrow on TGS (dining table: Write about a feast)_

 _Beauxbatons, Barbegazi_

 _Word Count: 619_

* * *

"You still haven't packed yet?" Remus asks, a note of disapproval in his tone.

Sirius glances at his trunk, still open at the foot of his bed. His belongings are still scattered across his bed. He swore he'd get it done soon, but he's been putting it off. The moment Sirius packs his trunk will mean that he's accepted defeat, that he's acknowledging he has to return to his home and deal with his disappointed parents. "I'll get around to it," he mutters.

Remus rolls his eyes and moves past the other boy. He quickly busies himself, folding the clothes before tidying the books and supplies. "There's no getting around to it," he says dryly. "Come on. Even James has his trunk packed."

"Is that really so shocking?" James calls, a hint of a pout in his tone. "I can be responsible!"

Remus snorts. "Whatever you say."

Sirius watches Remus work, his throat tight. He wishes he could tell him the truth. They all know how much he detests his parents and their ways, but he doubts his three friends could ever imagine how much he doesn't want to go home, how afraid he is. He doesn't think he can face his family after his "betrayal".

"Well, at least there's food," Peter offers happily. "Our last feast together until September."

Sirius smiles. "Yeah. At least there's that."

…

Sirius looks around at the trays of food. His stomach growls, and yet he feels like he might throw up. Beside him, James piles roast chicken, potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding onto his plate, a bit of drool already spilling from his lips. On his other side, Remus nibbles thoughtfully on a roll. Across from him, Peter happily spoons stew into his mouth.

And Sirius can't bring himself to touch a bite of it.

"Something wrong, mate?" James asks, nudging Sirius with his shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh, no. Nothing," Sirius lies.

The other two pick on James' concern. Remus and Peter study Sirius.

Cheeks growing uncomfortably warm, Sirius hesitantly transfers food from the trays to his plate. He doesn't really pay attention to what he selects. It doesn't matter. He already knows that even if he can manage to eat, he's too nervous to be able to even taste it, let alone enjoy it.

Sirius grabs a fork, pushing his vegetables around absently, his mind far away.

He wonders if he could tell them the truth. So far, they've all been through so much together. There has never been any judgment among them.

He knows he could, and yet he can't bring himself to speak up.

Sirius nibbles on his chicken, abandoning the vegetables. As expected, he can't taste a thing.

"Something's bothering you," Remus says softly.

Sirius swallows, the food sticking in his throat. He grabs his goblet, taking a deep drink of pumpkin juice to wash down the offending bite of chicken. "Just… Just thinking about how much I'm going to miss you guys over the summer," he says quickly, trying his best for a bright smile.

It isn't a lie; it just isn't the whole truth. The three of them have become more like family than most of his family could ever hope to be. The thought of trading them for his parents and that dreary estate is enough to make him sick.

"Don't worry," Peter says. "We'll be here when you get back."

Sirius' smile becomes more solid. He nods, a slight peace settling over him.

Maybe he has to go home. Maybe he has to deal with his family until September.

But at least he knows he has his friends to come back to. It doesn't make him want to leave any more, but it makes it easier.


	16. Mercy

_Liza's Loves: Write about someone looking after their mother._

 _Showtime: "Slipping", mercy_

 _Decorating the Christmas Tree: Bellatrix Lestrange_

 _Jingle Bells: "Last Christmas", Write about heartbreak_

 _Word Count: 362_

* * *

Bellatrix has never been afraid of anything, but this is enough to chill her to the bone. Rodolphus might tease her and say she has no heart, and she might agree. Looking at the woman on the bed, however, proves that she does have a heart, and it's breaking.

"A potion for the pain, Mother," she says.

Her mother groans and blinks. Bellatrix doesn't want to look at her. She is not the strong woman the younger witch has always admired. She is a husk, withered and pitiful. Bellatrix understands now why her master fears death so much. Dying takes everything away from a person. It leaves them twisted and hollow.

"Here you go." Bellatrix guides the older woman, helping her to swallow potion. Once it's consumed, her mother collapses again in a pitiful heap.

Bellatrix wishes she could be anywhere else but here. She isn't the most domestic witch alive, and Narcissa is far more suited for this task. Still, Bellatrix is the oldest, and this is duty. She has no choice.

"Does it hurt, Mother?"

She's only greeted with silence. Her mother has already drifted off to sleep again. That's all she does, really— sleep and scream. It's almost as though her mother isn't there at all.

Bellatrix forced herself to look at her now, and tears cling to her lashes. She wipes them away furiously, wishing it could be true, wishing she could truly be heartless.

It's been two weeks since her mother had fallen ill like this— in a way that she will never come back from. Two weeks of agony, two weeks of fading. The strong, beautiful woman Bellatrix loves more than anything is suffering, and there's nothing she can do about it.

Unless…

The idea is dark, even for her own mind. But is it really so cruel to show someone mercy?

"I love you, Mother," Bellatrix says quietly, drawing her wand.

The curse seems to stick in her throat. Her hands tremble as though this is her first time. She takes a deep, steadying breath and clenches her jaw.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

The green light finds her mother's chest. Druella Black is at peace at last.


	17. Shame

_Yule Ball: Write about being embarrassed or embarrassing someone._

 _Word Count: 597_

* * *

Cygnus isn't particularly to see his sister at his doorstep so early in the morning. Walburga has never been one to just pop in for a friendly chat.

"Wally," he says stiffly, smirking as she scowls at the nickname, "if I had known you were coming, I would have saved you a plate."

His sister narrows her eyes and offers him an annoyed huff. "I did not stop by for a nice family meal," she snaps, pushing past him and walking into the manor as though she owns the place.

Cygnus groans. His family is already going through so much right now. The last thing he needs is for Walburga to show up. "Fancy a cup of tea?" he asks, shutting the door behind him.

Walburga turns. A smile pulls at her thin lips, and there's a nasty glint in her eyes. "Is tea really that important now, dear brother?" she asks in a faux sweet voice. "After all, your daughter…"

Cygnus' cheeks burn, and he looks away, refusing to meet her gaze. The way she lets her sentence trail off tells him two things. One, news has already spread about Andromeda's disgusting betrayal. Two, she doesn't know what's going on.

Under ordinary circumstances, he might laugh. Walburga is always the first to know about every little scandal. For her to not being on top things is almost satisfying. Almost. Unfortunately, it's _his_ daughter involved in the scandal; it's _his_ household forced to carry the shame.

"Well, dear brother?" she prompts, her smile broadening. Walburga looks downright ecstatic now. "Are the rumors true?

"I'm afraid they are," he answers grudgingly, hanging his head in shame.

He's done everything he can to raise perfect daughters. Bellatrix and Narcissa are happy to live up to the Black family's values. Once, he had believed that Andromeda was just as happy. She had been his pride and joy. Now, she is little more than an embarrassment, just a shameful smear on his family's reputation.

Walburga rests a hand on his shoulder. It would be a comforting gesture if her nails didn't dig in. "You know what you have to do."

Cygnus shudders. "I know."

…

Andromeda's betrayal is still so fresh, so stinging. Cygnus had hoped that she would see reason. He's spent the past day waiting for her to come home and apologize for her lapse of judgment. Instead, he's only been met with silence from his middle child.

He knows he doesn't have a choice, but he wishes he did. Why can't it be enough that people will whisper about her? Why can't it be enough that shame will follow his family for years to come? It would be easier then. Eventually, her betrayal would fade into the background and no one would care.

This is permanent. Blasting her from the tapestry will announce her sins to the future generations. His greatest shame will carry on whenever someone looks at the horrible charred hole beneath his name.

Still, it has to be done. As much as he wishes otherwise, it is a tradition, and Blacks honor the old ways.

He raises his wand and hesitates. There's still a chance for a miracle. Somehow, he just knows that Andromeda will burst through those doors, and life will go back to the way it should be.

"What are you waiting for?" Walburga snaps, tapping her foot impatiently.

Cygnus takes a deep breath. With a quick incantation, his daughter's portrait disappears from the tapestry.

"Isn't that better?" his sister asks.

"Better," he echoes bitterly.

Now the world will never forget his shame.


	18. Breaking

_Insane House Competition: Regulus Black_

 _365 Prompts Challenge: justify_

 _Showtime, "Good For You": "You got what you always wanted."_

 _Book Club, Orc: getting drunk, monster, destroying something_

 _Word Count: 317_

* * *

"You got what you always wanted," Regulus mutters bitterly to himself. "You're the golden boy. Your parents are oh so proud."

So why isn't he happy? He had believed that joining the Dark Lord and following his cousin was the right thing to do. After all, it's what his family believes in. How can he be wrong when it's the only thing he's ever known?

He stares at his reflection, disgusted by what he sees. Once, he had been a bright boy with the world at his feet. He could have had anything; he could have been something important.

Now, he's disillusioned. Nothing can justify his actions and choices.

Regulus grabs the bottle, his hand trembling. He's already had too much, but he doesn't care. He wants to feel the blissful burn of the alcohol; maybe it can cleanse him of the monster inside.

"Sirius was right," he slurs, taking a deep swig. Amber liquid rolls down his chin. "I should have… should have…"

He trails off. What should he have done? Followed in his brother's footsteps? It would have been suicide. Sirius might be equipped to live with scandal, but Regulus is the good son.

His eyes remain fixed upon the mirror. What has he become? He's done right by his parents, but at what cost? In the past few months alone, he's murdered people, tortured them. He can feel his humanity slowly slipping away.

This isn't what he wanted. He wanted to make a difference, change the world for the better. At first, he'd believed the Death Eaters could make that dream a reality, but now he finds himself lost and afraid.

"Bloody fool," he whispers before slamming the nearly empty bottle into the mirror.

Both the bottle and mirror shatter. Glass falls to the floor, and Regulus laughs at the destruction. He's breaking too.

How much longer before he can't be put back together?


	19. Noticing

_Sticker Challenge, Bloody Baron: jealousy_

 _Insane House Competition: married_

 _365 Prompts Challenge: ruby_

 _Word Count: 304_

* * *

Her lips are still painted, red as rubies. Cygnus pretends not to notice. Noticing means he'll have to accept the fact that his wife has strayed again. Noticing means another conversation that will get them nowhere.

They are married; divorce is not an option. Their vows are sacred, and Cygnus will not deal with the shame that comes with breaking them.

"Where were you?" he asks, acidic jealousy souring his stomach.

Druella doesn't bother to look ashamed. She knows that he knows, but if he doesn't mention it, neither will she. It's a game they've been playing long before their marriage. Druella has never loved him and never will. Her heart belonged to Abraxas Malfoy long before their marriage had been arranged. Cygnus is little more than a consolation prize, a reminder that she can never be with the one she wants.

He hates it. He has been in love with her as long as he can remember. It isn't fair. Marriage is something done for duty, not for love, but he deserves something more.

"I was walking in the garden," Druella answers, her crystal blue eyes narrowing, almost as though she's challenging him.

His stomach knots. Cygnus can guess exactly _whose_ garden she would be at for hours at a time.

"Is something wrong, dear?" she adds, her perfectly painted lips pulling into a smirk. "You look unwell."

"Perfectly fine."

If she notices the way his voice quivers with emotion, she doesn't mention it. They never do. Pretending is so much easier.

Before he can say anything, Druella moves past him, her heels clicking against the hall floor as she leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Cygnus rests his head against the table. His life will never be fair. His marriage will always be an act.

Jealousy will always be his only friend.


	20. Part of His World

_Hogwarts, Assignment 2_

 _Careers Advice, Task 1: Write about having to complete a mundane job without magic._

 _Insane House Competition: Dorea Potter_

 _Word Count: 690_

* * *

"I don't get it," Dorea says, carefully carrying the stack of dishes to the restaurant's sink in back. "You do all of this without magic?"

Marius nods, following her along and helping her get the dishes into the sink without breaking them. "No choice, remember? Squib." He pokes his thumb against his chest for emphasis, a small smile tugging at his thin lips.

Dorea shrugs. Just because he can't use magic doesn't mean she can't. It would be so much easier if he'd let her wave her wand and call it a day. Still, helping Marius at his restaurant had been her idea, and using magic in a place that's packed with Muggles would probably get her in trouble with the Ministry.

Marius turns on the tap, and steam fills the air. He adds soap before handing her a rag. "It's easy," he assures her, pushing a hand through his dark curls. "Scrub, rinse, put them on the rack to dry."

Dorea supposes it could be worse. She's watched Marius cook, and she has to admire the dangers he puts himself through. If she had tried to chop vegetables, she'd probably lose a finger in the process, but he manages it with such ease.

Maybe that's why she finds herself here now. Her brother hadn't had a choice but to learn to survive in the Muggle world. Maybe this is her way of getting close to him after eleven years of estrangement. If she can be part of his world, if he can see how much she wants to learn, maybe they can be close again.

She considers pulling her brunette hair back but decides it's pointless. The steam from the water has already caused sweat to dot her forehead, and dark strands are plastered to her skin. With a sigh, she lifts the first plate, trying to remember everything she has learned from Marius.

"You've got this," she mumbles to herself before scrubbing the rag over the the plate.

She makes a face as her bare fingers brush over some of the gravy that hasn't been washed away. This may not be a difficult task, but it is certainly a disgusting one. As she continues scrubbing and rinsing the small mountain of dishes, she often has to stop to wash away bits of food and sauce that cling to her hands.

"Bit slow," Marius teases.

Dorea glares at the fork in her hand. "If you've brought more dishes, I will hex you," she mutters, passing the fork over the stream of water and watching the suds melt away.

"You're the one who volunteered," he reminds her with a chuckle. "Come on. I'll wash; you rinse."

There isn't much left to wash, but Marius' help makes the process go much faster. Dorea watches in amazement as he scrubs away the remnants of food so quickly before passing them to her. It's almost like her brother harnesses some strange sort of domestic magic that doesn't require a wand.

"Ta-da!" he beams, his soft grey eyes twinkling as he hands her the last knife. "See? Easy!"

Dorea passes the blade under the water and sets it with the rest of the silverware. She offers Marius a smile. "It wasn't terrible," she admits, lifting her apron and wiping away the sweat that streaks her pale face.

"Wait until we close," he chuckles, wrapping a slender arm around her shoulders and guiding her along. "You get to learn to use a broom for something other than flying.'

She groans, but her smile stays in place. It isn't easy to do these things without magic, but she realizes she doesn't really mind it. Doing things the Muggle way gives her a glimpse of the things Marius has gone through. Maybe she'll never full understand, but it has allowed her to relate to him a little more. She has finally found a way to be part of his world.

"Come on," he says, leading her through the busy kitchen. "Vera just finished icing her famous triple chocolate cake. You've got to try it."

"As long as I don't have to wash the dishes after," she laughs.


	21. Nightmares Are Dreams Too

_Disney Challenge, magical wishes: Write about someone's dream coming true, and it not being what they wanted_

 _Amber's Attic: Charis Black_

 _Book Club, Francis: pregnant, garden, hope_

 _Showtime, "I'm Not That Girl (reprise)": wishing_

 _Days of the Month, World Marriage Day: Write about a married couple_

 _Lyric Alley: "That things will get better"_

 _A Year in Entertainment, show: cane_

 _Serpent Day, Hopi Rattlesnake: fragile_

 _Scavenger hunt: Write a ship you've never written_

 _Word Count: 522_

 _Warning: abuse_

* * *

She's dreamt of this moment for so long. Ever since she was a little girl, Charis wanted nothing more than to be a wife and mother. It is her duty, after all, and she's always wanted to do the right thing.

Now that she's married, she's wanted this more than ever. Caspar is a cruel man. She she knows he loves her, but his temper is so sharp, and she often finds herself on the receiving end of his bad moods.

Now, that will change. Now, there is an heir growing in her womb. He will be pleased with her, and they can have the life she's always wanted. Caspar will love her and their child; his anger will fade away.

Smiling, she walks through the garden, one hand resting on her stomach as the other grazes over the sweet blooming flowers. She's never been the type to believe in hope. She has always been too practical to believe that wishing will accomplish anything. Now, however, she feels hope flutter through her body, softly tickling her insides.

Everything will be okay.

…

She hears the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of her husband's cane against the floor, and her lips tug into a bright smile. "Begin preparing dinner, Mimsy," she instructs.

The house-elf squeaks and bows her head. "Yes, Mistress," she says before disappearing into the kitchen.

"What do you look so happy about?" Caspar asks suspiciously, limping in and resting against his ornate silver cane.

"I have the most wonderful news for you, my love," Charis tells him hurrying over. A small smile plays at her lips, and she lets out a girlish giggle. "I'm with child."

She waits for him to return her smile. This is what their marriage is meant for, after all. This should be the happiest moment of their lives.

Instead, his dark eyes narrow. He grips the head of his cane until his knuckles turn white. "Pregnant?" The word is hurled from his mouth like it's something disgusting. "How could you be so irresponsible?"

"My love?"

His palm connects sharply with her face. "Stupid girl! Who will care for this child? We do not have enough servants," he snarls as she scurries back.

"I'm sorry, my love," Charis whimpers, clutching her stinging cheek. "But we will have a family! Is that not enough for you?"

His nostrils flare as he takes a step closer. Charis moves behind a chair, fearful that she will feel the weight of that cane against her body next. Tears fall from her eyes, streaking her face.

"Clean yourself up," he says before turning on his heel and stalking off.

…

"Mistress should not be worrying so much. Mistress is fragile," Mimsy tells her when she finds Charis curled up in her room, still sobbing.

"I got what I always wanted," Charis says. "But my dream is a nightmare."

The house-elf helps her to her feet. "Things will be better, Mistress. Mistress does not need to be crying. Everything will be okay."

There it is. That dangerous, fluttering sensation of hope courses through her body again.

Charis is too afraid to embrace it.


	22. Secrets Between Sisters

_A Year in Entertainment, book: sisters_

 _Amber's Attic: Dorea Black_

 _Serpent Day, Zebra Snake: library_

 _Word Count: 366_

* * *

"Dorea," Cassiopeia says, leaning across the table.

Dorea scowls and sets her book down. She hates being interrupted, especially since her Charms grades are awful, and she needs all the study time she can get. "What?"

A grin tugs at her sister's lips. Her crystal blue eyes flicker briefly to a neighboring table before resting on Dorea again. "Why does Charlus Potter keep staring at you?" she asks.

Dorea feels her cheeks burn. She had hoped her sister wouldn't notice. They've done such a good job keeping their relationship secret, always taking special care to not make things obvious.

It isn't as though there would be any scandal behind dating a Potter. The family is a good one, even if their views conflict with the beliefs held by so many members of her own family. The secrecy is more for Dorea's sanity. Cassiopeia and Pollux don't know how to keep their mouths shut, and the last thing she needs is for them to run off and tell their father. She wants to court him; her father will jump straight to marriage.

"Is he pining for you?" Cassiopeia asks, raising her brows. "Have you stolen his heart, Dorea? You vixen!"

"Keep your voice down. We're in a library," Dorea mutters, pointedly turning her attention back to her book.

Her sister scoffs. "Brilliant job avoiding the question. What are you trying to hide, sister dear? Shall I begin shopping for a gown to wear to your wedding?"

Dorea slams the books shut with more force than actually necessary. She climbs to her feet and walks off. Unfortunately, her sister is stubborn. Cassiopeia is right on her heels.

"Dorea!" she calls when they're in the corridor. "You can tell me anything."

"Fine! Charlus and I are together," she says. "Please, just keep it between us, Cassi."

Cassiopeia's lips twist into a small pout. "What are you implying?"

Dorea doesn't dignify with a response other than an exasperated roll of her eyes before walking away.

…

"Dorea, love," Charlus says as they stroll around the lake, "why did your sister welcome me to the family?"

Dorea groans. One of these days, she will learn not to trust Cassiopeia with anything.


	23. A Good Man

Character Appreciation: father

Amber's Attic: Cedrella Black

Showtime, "A Sentimental Man": father&child

Buttons: toy, bath

Insane House Competition: parent&child

Serpent Day, cottonmouth: mumble

Word Count: 494

* * *

"Arthur!"

Cedrella looks up from the pot of soup she's tending to when she hears her husband's shocked tone. When she finds the source of the noise, she sees Septimus standing with his hands on his hips and their son standing before him, covered head to toe in mud. Even Arthur's beloved toy duck seems to have taken a bath in mud. Thick clumps of dark, slick earth have been tracked through the house, smeared across the freshly mopped floor.

Cedrella feels a flutter of panic pulse through her body; her heart skips a beat, and she forgets how to breathe for a fraction of a second.

Growing up, this would have never been allowed. She still remembers spilling her dinner once when she was four. Her father had locked her in her room for three days.

"Septimus," she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please, he's just a boy…"

Her husband doesn't seem to hear her. He marches towards their son, and Cedrella lets out a soft cry.

"I played, Daddy!" their three year old announces proudly, lifting his toy. "Duck-Duck played too!"

Cedrella waits for the fallout. Septimus is nothing like her father, and Arthur is such a good boy, but she doesn't know anything but discipline and cruelty. She waits with bated breath, wondering if she'll be able to intervene; her mother never did, but she is not her mother.

"I see," Septimus says, and, to Cedrella's surprise, he laughs. "I'm glad you spoke, son. Almost didn't recognize you under all that mud."

Arthur giggles, clapping his hands. More mud flies off his skin, splattering across the wall. "It's me!" he assures Septimus.

"Go get those clothes off," Septimus instructs. "I'll give you a bath before dinner."

"Duck-Duck needs bath too!" Arthur insists, holding up the yellow-turned-grey toy and grinning.

"He sure does. Go. I'll get you both all nice and clean."

"'Kay!" Arthur is still grinning as he rushes off, leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake.

"Cedrella?" Septimus turns to her, frowning. "Are you well, love? You look a bit faint."

Cedrella shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says, a smile tugging at her lips.

Septimus is so good with Arthur. She doesn't know why it's so hard to let go of her childhood and accept that her husband is a good man and an amazing father.

He closes the distance between them and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Good. Don't worry. I'll take care of Arthur and clean the floors," he tells her, pushing a hand through her fair hair. "Dinner smells amazing."

As he walks away, Cedrella can only stare after him. She doesn't know how she got so lucky, but she has found the best man, and she's happy to have a little family with him. He is a reminder that her past may have shaped her, but it does not define her.

"Thank you," she whispers, but he's already gone.


	24. Alone

Amber's Attic: Phoebe Black

Showtime, "I'm Not That Girl": steal

Days of the Month, Singles Awareness Day: Write about someone who is happily single

Lyric Alley: "Maybe when I get older"

Serpent Day, boomslang: wild

Word Count: 477

* * *

I.

"I shall never marry," Phoebe declares, watching her exhausted mother force a smile as her father comes in.

Alexia laughs nastily. "You won't have a choice," she says, tugging at the younger girl's pale blonde hair. "Pretty as you are, Father will have trouble deciding which suitor to give you to."

The eleven year old scowls, pulling away from her sister. "I won't get married," she says. "Just wait and see."

Alexia's expression softens, but just barely. Phoebe thinks she hates her sister's pity more than her teasing. Alexia looks at her like she's a child who is too stupid to understand something. Without another word, the older pats Phoebe's head and walks away.

II.

At thirteen, her father finds her first suitor. "I will not marry him."

"Leopold Nott is a good choice," her father insists.

Phoebe folds her arms over her chest, shaking her head stubbornly. "I will not allow a man to steal my freedom, Father."

"You are a female. You have no freedom, dear girl."

…

After that, she cuts her hair herself. It is choppy and looks terrible, but it isn't about beauty. If being a girl is what causes her to be a prize to be won, she will change that.

It amazes her how natural it feels to fall into this role. She has never been as feminine as her sister. She has always favored Licorus, but she's spent years being told that girls can't do things. Maybe she isn't a girl at all. This new skin that she wears for more like home than anything else ever has.

...

Leopold Nott decides not to court her. He says that she is too wild, that he wants delicate flower to marry, not some vulgar weed.

Her father screams at her. He tells her that she'll understand when she's older.

Phoebe doubts it. This is who she is. Her father can lock her away all she wants. She is not truly a girl. Maybe her body and name, but she is so much more.

III.

By the time she's eighteen, she has successfully scared away seven suitors. They no longer line up, hoping to catch her father's favor. Even the prestige of her family's wealth cannot persuade anyone to try and get close to her.

Phoebe smiles when her father breaks what he calls the bad news. She will not be wed. Her days will be lived out as a spinster.

IV.

Alone.

Phoebe loves the feeling. No one is around who might judge her for her short hair or masculine apparel.

Alone.

She always wanted to be alone in the end. Marriage is such a useless thing. Love should never be allowed to rule anyone's heart.

Alone.

They will say she died a lonely, miserable old woman, but that won't be true. She doesn't need anyone.

Alone is her salvation.


	25. Death Does Not Part

_For Hogwarts, Assignment 3_

 _Divination: Write about someone turning to dark magic to bring back a loved one._

 _Character Appreciation: brother_

 _Amber's Attic: Walburga Black_

 _Showtime, Finale: Wicked_

 _Lyric Alley: "I'm a little bit angry."_

 _Liza's Loves, Black Magic: Write about someone using dark magic_

 _Word Count: 1258_

* * *

Walburga manages to keep her face neutral as she and Orion stand before the tapestry. "I know he was your brother," Orion says, his tone clipped, "but he was a traitor. It's for the best."

Walburga raises her wand, nodding. With one quick flick, she mutters the incantation. Her brother's spot on the tapestry burns away, and his handsome face is replaced by a charred mark.

"It had to happen," her husband says.

Walburga gives another nod. She reaches out, brushing her slender finger over the spot where her brother's face had been. "I know," she says.

That knowledge does nothing to calm the storm within her head.

…

All she can think about is Alphard. Her brother had once been a good man. How could he be a traitor?

She can't deny it; the evidence is too great. The contents of Alphard's will seem burned into her brain. He left gold for her traitorous son.

Walburga wipes away her tears, but it's a temporary fix. Fresh tears fall from her grey eyes.

"Walburga, dear?" Orion calls, knocking on the door to their bedroom. "Everything okay?"

She almost laughs. How could everything be okay when her brother's betrayal is so fresh in her mind? Of course, she can't tell him that. "It will be, my love."

…

Borgin raises his brows as Walburga taps a slender finger against the glass case. The rock inside is small and smooth; to the untrained eye, it would look like a small pool of blood. Walburga's eyes are trained to see the smaller details. Having raised Sirius, she didn't have much of a choice but to sharpen her mind and become critical of everything. She can see the strange markings etched into it.

"A fine choice," Borgin says, "but if you are looking for a gem, I have a diamond from Peru that will bring you wealth and—"

"I have more diamonds than I need, and just as much wealth," Walburga interrupts. "I need this."

"You do know what it's used for, Mrs. Black, don't you?" Borgin asks, but his tone tells her that he already knows the answer.

"Your price," Walburga says firmly.

"Two hundred Galleons."

"One fifty."

"With this power—"

"A power that isn't guaranteed," Walburga says. "One fifty."

Borgin hesitates, his nostrils flaring. Under ordinary circumstances, it might be an amusing sight. Now, however, Walburga has no time to take pleasure in watching him fumble and sputter.

"Since your family has always brought this shop so much business, perhaps I could lower the price," he says, offering her a wicked grin. "Only for you, my dear."

…

"Hurry up," Walburga barks.

"Kreacher is hurrying, Mistress," the house-elf says.

Walburga taps her foot impatiently. It would be much quicker to clear the dirt with a spell, but the ritual instructions are clear. This must be done by hand. She is only grateful that it doesn't have to be done by _her_ hands; she isn't sure that this would be worth demeaning herself with manual labor.

"Open the coffin," she instructs when her servant finally unearths it.

"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher says, obeying.

Walburga covers mouth as stale air and the stench of death wash over her. Her stomach churns violently, but she swallows it down. "Retrieve him."

Again, the house-elf obeys without question. He drops Alphard's body at her feet. "Leave me now, and say nothing about this to anyone. That is an order."

Kreacher bows his head before disappearing with a loud _pop_. Alone at last, Walburga kneels beside her brother. "Oh, Alphard," she whispers. "My dear, sweet Alphard."

She carefully grips his jaw, using her free hand to pry his mouth open before placing the blood red stone in his mouth. Satisfied that it's secure and won't slip down his throat, she climbs to her feet again and makes her way to the pile of graveyard dirt. She takes a handful of earth and drops it onto his chest before pulling out a silver athame.

Her confidence begins to waver. Walburga draw a deep breath, her hand trembling. She knows what has to be done, but she doesn't like it. With another shaky breath, she draws the blade across her palm. Blood begins to drip, and she holds it over Alphard's body, letting her blood mix with the small pile of dirt on his chest.

She begins the incantation. It's much more complicated than the spells taught at Hogwarts, but dark magic often is. Curses may only consist of a word or two, but ancient magic is different. The dark magic that time has forgotten requires more than just a word and a wave of the wand; it requires a ritual.

The wind begins to pick up as her chanting grows louder. Her grey-streaked hair whips across her face, and strands get caught on her tongue. It's almost as though the universe is pleading with her, trying to remind her that this sort of magic has been forgotten for a reason. Walburga doesn't stop until she hears the sudden gasp at her feet.

When she looks down, her brother sits up, spitting the stone from his mouth. He lifts a skeletal hand, pushing a hand through his dark hair. "Walburga…" His voice is dry and rough, barely more than a whisper. "I was… I was…"

"Dead, yes," she confirms. "Heart attack."

Alphard stares up at her. His eyes look glassy, and she wonders if it will ever fade away. Would Alphard be able to go back to his old self?

"You left money for Sirius."

"Ah…" Alphard stretches, staring at his arms as he moves them. It's like a child discovering his body for the first time. "I did."

"It was a mistake, I'm sure," she continues. "You forgot to have your will changed after Sirius was disowned."

It would make sense. Alphard has always been a bit soft. Of course he would be silly enough to forget something as important as that.

"It was no mistake," her brother says, his voice stronger now.

"Beg pardon?"

"Sirius always deserved better than you and Orion," Alphard tells her. "You never cared about him, not when Regulus came along. Someone had to look after that boy since you didn't give a damn."

Walburga doesn't know what comes over her. With a burst of rage, she stabs the athame into his neck. Nothing happens. There is no blood or screaming. Alphard simply reaches up, grips the handle, and throws the athame to the ground. "I'm dead, Wally," he says flatly. "You cannot kill me again."

"Perhaps not, but I can send you back another way. _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

He may be dead, but magic still works on him. His limbs snap to his side, and he falls back against the ground. His eyes are still wide open, and they seem to plead with her. Walburga doesn't care. Let him plead. She had hoped to find a way to prove that her beloved brother wasn't a traitor, and he's proven to be so much worse.

"Sleep well, dear brother," she says, pushing his body back into the hole in the ground and closing the coffin lid with a wave of her wand. Another quick flick, and she sends the mound of dirt into the hole.

Walburga plucks the red stone from the ground, tucking it into her pocket. She will find a place for it later, but she knows she will never use it again.

Perhaps it's best to just let the dead stay dead. Even loved ones can be disappointments in the end.


	26. No Voice

_Amber's Attic: Lysandra Black_

 _Showtime, "March of the Witch Hunters": coward_

 _Lyric Alley: "But I don't wanna let it go."_

 _Word Count: 335_

* * *

It's the way it's meant to be. Lysandra knows this. The Yaxley family has valued tradition, but they are not nearly as strict as the Blacks.

Tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them away before her husband can see them. Arcturus doesn't like tears, and Lysandra knows better than to disappoint her husband. She keeps her mouth shut and hides in the shadows, always too scared to speak up, even know that it matters.

Her husband steps closer to the tapestry. Cedrella's beautiful face still stares back at them. But not for long. Arcturus will blast her away, and her portrait will be replaced by an angry scorch mark.

A sob sticks in her throat. Arcturus turns, his dark eyes narrowed at her. He doesn't have to speak; she can see the threat in that glare. Lysandra shrinks back, trying to disappear. She forces a cough, hoping it's convincing enough to make him believe her earlier sob had been a cough too.

After several moments, Arcturus tears his attention away from her and turns back to the tapestry.

This is it. Her precious Cedrella will be gone forever. Even if she is still alive, she will no longer be welcome in this home.

Lysandra wants to scream. It isn't fair. Even if Cedrella made a mistake in choosing a Weasley to be her husband, it doesn't have to be like this; she doesn't want to let go of her sweet daughter, but she knows there is no choice. She is a Black now, and that means keeping her voice down and never questioning her husband.

She wants to grab his arm and beg, but she is too much of a coward. She would rather let him follow this tradition and erase her daughter from their history than speak up. It's what's expected from her, and she doesn't know any other way to live.

The spell is cast; Cedrella's portrait is reduced to char.

And there isn't a damn thing Lysandra can do about it.


	27. Best of Both Worlds

_Amber's Attic: Marius Black_

 _Love in Motion: Marius &Dorea_

 _Word Count: 933_

* * *

"You look like you're about to faint," Marius teases, poking Dorea gently in the side.

He loves the way his little sister blushes and scowls; it's adorable. Dorea swats his hand away, poking her tongue out at him. "It's not every day I get to meet your…"

She trails off as though she doesn't quite know how to finish it. Marius understands. He was raised in two different worlds, with two different families. It must be hard for her to wrap her head around this.

"My parents," he supplies helpfully. He stops and turns to look at her, offering her an apologetic smile. "I feel that I should warn you… I told them I'm an orphan. They, uh… They don't really know about you."

When her eyes widen, he wonders if he shouldn't have said it. To be fair, his younger self didn't know he'd one day be reunited with a family member. He had panicked and said the first thing that came to his mind, the only thing that would keep them from asking too many questions. Now, Dorea looks hurt, and Marius can feel regret twisting his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Dorea shakes her head, her dark curls whipping against her face. "Doesn't matter," she says, wrapping an arm around him. "I get to meet the people who raised my brother to be a fine young man."

Marius leans in, resting his head against his sister's shoulder. "They did do an amazing job raising me," he agrees.

…

"Mum, Dad, this is Dorea," Marius says. "My sister."

The word still feels so strange to him. He spent twelve years denying her existence but still hoping, still sending letters. But she's in his life again, and maybe it's hard to get used to, but he loves it.

"Sister?" Josephine echoes, looking between Marius and Dorea. "I see the resemblance."

"The eyes," Thomas agrees. "But you told us your family was dead…"

"It's a long story," Marius mutters, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. He can't even tell them the full story; how can he explain the strange world of magic that he doesn't belong in but his sister does? They will never understand. "But yes. This is Dorea. Dorea, meet Josephine and Thomas Murray. My parents."

Dorea reaches to shake Josephine's hand, but the older woman pulls her into a warm hug. "We don't shake hands with family, love," Josephine laughs.

Marius can see the way Dorea tenses. Blacks aren't known for affection. He almost laughs as he remembers being so shocked by Josephine's eagerness to hug him, a scrawny, dirty kid off the street.

"Marius has told me so much about you," Dorea says when she's finally free of the embrace.

"And he's told us nothing about you," Thomas says, and he gives Marius a stern look that makes the younger man shift uncomfortably.

"I told you," Marius mutters. "It's a long story."

"Plenty of time for long stories over dinner," Josephine assures him. "Dorea, do you like to cook?"

The color drains from his sister's face, and Marius covers his mouth, trying to disguise his laugh as a cough. It doesn't work, and Dorea's elbow connects sharply with his ribs.

"Never had the chance to learn," she says, glaring at Marius.

Josephine takes Dorea by the hand. "Now's as good a time to learn as any."

…

It's strange. Marius has always been part of two worlds without actually truly belonging in either. Now, he sits at dinner, watching as those worlds collide. His parents, who have been supportive and kind, laugh and chat with his sister, who had once been his best friend.

Maybe he still doesn't belong in either world, but be doesn't care. He has the best of both, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

…

"They're really lovely people," Dorea says as he walks with her after dinner.

Marius grins, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it between his lips. "They are," he agrees, lighting the cigarette and inhaling. "The very best."

"I'm glad you had them. They're…" Dorea pauses, taking a deep breath. "They really love you. Merlin! I have never seen such a happy family before."

Marius wraps his arm around her. The Murrays are so different from the Blacks. He tries not to think too much about his childhood, but he remembers how cold and strict their father had been. That portion of is life is so unlike his time in the Muggle world. The Murrays are kind and warm, and he's lucky to have grown up knowing what it feels like to be loved.

Does Dorea know that feeling? Their father always had a soft spot for Cassiopeia and Dorea. Did he at least love her and let her know she was wanted? Judging by the sadness in her eyes, Marius already knows the answer.

"It's okay," he tells her, pausing to pull her into a proper hug. "You heard Mum in there. She called you family."

When Dorea pulls away, there are tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "I don't even know what family is anymore."

He ruffles her hair affectionately. "I didn't either," he assures her. "But don't worry. We'll teach you if you want."

"I'd like that."

It hasn't been an easy road. They've lost each other, only to be reunited in the end. Now, things are still strange, and they're trying to figure things out.

But Marius smiles because there's hope for them. He can feel it in his heart.


	28. Signs of Hope

_For Hogwarts, Assignment 3_

 _Psychology:_ Write about someone learning a new behaviour/reaction to stimuli because they have learned to associate it with something else

Word: 861

* * *

Sirius tenses when the other boy sits across from him on the train, grinning brightly. He wonders if the boy will still grin when he realizes Sirius is defective.

The boy holds out his hand, and Sirius studies his face intently. "I'm James." Sirius can't hear the words, but he's mastered the art of reading lips.

Rather than accepting the handshake, Sirius lifts a single finger before wincing. He clasps his hands tightly together for a moment, taking a deep breath. It's nearly impossible to ignore the way his heart races and tears prick his eyes.

"You okay?" James asks.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Sirius forces himself back to the moment. He offers the other boy an apologetic smile before pulling out a small notebook and quill, scribbling a quick note.

 **My name is Sirius Black.**

He studies James, waiting for the fallout. Understanding dawns on the other's face, and Sirius braces himself; it won't be long now. He wonders if James will just walk out, or if he'll mock Sirius first. The one good thing about being deaf is that he can close his eyes when words turn cruel. If he can't see it, he'll never know.

"Are you deaf?" James asks, gesturing at the notebook.

Sirius starts to nod, and another flicker of panic jolts through his body. He forces himself to resist the fear. He fought the urge; he's okay.

 **Since I was six.**

"Do you know how to sign?"

There's that panic again. Even that word holds enough power to scare him. Sirius closes his eyes, his hands moving restlessly but not forming any words.

* * *

 _"Stop that!" His mother's palm strikes his knuckles roughly._

 _Sirius whimpers, trying again to talk with his hands. He doesn't know why she's so mad. All he wants is to ask her for a glass of water._

 _He doesn't know how to communicate properly. His hands move wildly, trying to form the basic shape of a cup._

 _When his mother slaps him this time, it's across his face. He feels a stinging heat rise in his cheek, and tears swim in his eyes._

* * *

 **Not allowed.**

James reads it, his lips twisting into a frown. Good. Maybe he'll think Sirius is stupid and leave him alone.

It's a lonely life, but it's better this way. No one wants a broken boy.

"Why not?"

Sirius stares at him, jaw slack in surprise. Why does James seem to care so much? They don't know one another, aside from their names.

He swallows dryly. What if James is a spy, hired by his parents to keep an eye on him? Sirius shakes his head. He's being ridiculous, and he knows it. James is just a kid too; how could he be a spy?

 **Signing is bad.**

* * *

 _He tries and tries, but his family only answer his hand movements with anger._

" _Use your quill!" his mother says, her dark eyes narrowing furiously._

 _Sirius shakes his head. He doesn't like the quill. It takes too long to write, and he can talk with his hands so much quicker._

 _She isn't happy with his answers. Her fingers tangle roughly in his long hair, and she tugs hard. Black strands are plucked at the root, and Sirius thinks he cries out because even if he can't hear the sound, his throat is suddenly raw._

 _His mother tugs again, forcing him to look at her. "We're already ashamed of you, boy," she says. "We don't want to be reminded that you're damaged."_

* * *

"Why's it bad?"

He asks too many questions. Sirius shifts uncomfortably, shifting his gaze to his hands. Maybe he doesn't know how to sign properly, but he can still use his hands to get the idea across. No one is around who would see him, and he doubts James would run to his parents and tell them what Sirius is doing.

His fingers refuse to move. Just the thought of speaking through them makes him shiver. Instead, he takes the quill again.

 **Embarrasses family.**

* * *

 _Eventually, he stops. His hands still twitch, desperate to speak, but he resists the urge._

 _If he's a good boy and uses his quill, his mother doesn't hurt him. She still looks at him like he's something disgusting stuck to the bottom of her shoe, but sometimes she smiles._

" _See? No one will ever know you're defective," she tells him, his thin lips curling into a smirk. "I can almost pretend you're normal."_

 _ **Thank you, Mother.**_

* * *

"Well, your family sound like a bunch of miserable hags," James says, and Sirius feels guilty for grinning. "My uncle is deaf. I can teach you how to sign."

One day, Sirius might be able to associate his hands with something other than pain and fear. He'll take James up on that offer and learn. But today is not that day.

 **No thanks.**

James shrugs. "Suit yourself. Whenever you're ready, okay?"

Sirius smiles before scribbling again.

 **You still want to be my friend? Even if I'm broken.**

James' hazel eyes light up when he laughs. "You are not broken, mate. Trust me."

And somehow, even though it goes against everything he's ever known, Sirius almost believes him.


	29. Youthfulness

_Assignment 5, Muggle History, task 1: Use the phrase "off with his/her head" in your story, in a serious, non-humorous manner._

 _Caffeine Awareness, bicerin: Write about someone trying something new_

 _Showtime, "Cell Block Tango": murder_

 _Days, International Women's Day: Write a fic without featuring or mentioning men_

 _Buttons: Euphoria_

 _A Year in Entertainment, book: dust_

 _Word Count: 820_

* * *

 _Warnings for twisted thinking, murder, and… dark, twisted fuckery._

* * *

Elladora stands before the mirror, tracing a slender finger over the lines in her face. Her stomach turns acidic with disgust. She's tried countless potions and remedies, but they are just temporary fixes. The lines and creases will lessen or fade for a day or two, but it seems like ten more takes one's place.

"Nellie has drawn Mistress' bath!" The house-elf appears, smiling brightly at Elladora, clearly proud of her obedience. "Will Mistress be needing anything else?"

Elladora studies the creature for a moment. She can't remember how long the pitiful thing has been in her possession. A few decades? She is an old house-elf, and though the age shows in her slow movement, her skin barely has a line to show for it.

"Come here, Nellie."

"Yes, Mistress!" she squeaks, staggering forward.

"Faster! I haven't got all night!"

"Nellie can't be walking any faster, Mistress," the house-elf protests.

Elladora considers for a moment. Slowly, a cruel smile spreads across her face. "Such a shame. What good is a house-elf who can't obey an order? Am I supposed to wait for you, Nellie?" she asks, her tone cold as ice.

"M-Mistress?"

The house-elf still looks so youthful. It doesn't matter that she can barely hold a tea tray. A woman should never be concerned with her ability; life is all about appearance, after all. Something makes Nellie look youthful— something in her blood.

"I'm afraid I won't be needing your services any longer," Elladora tells her. "You are too old and slow, and my standards are much too high to continue to keep you."

Nellie's round eyes widen with fear. Her lips quiver. "Mistress can't be freeing Nellie," she protests in a squeal. "Nellie is a good elf, an obedient servant. Mistress—"

"Don't worry. I would never free you."

The house-elf relaxes. She doesn't even notice the scissors in Elladora's hands until they're plunged into her neck.

…

The blood is warm and sticky, and it smells of iron. Elladora supposes most people would be horrified at the thought of bathing in house-elf blood, but she doesn't care. It's new and strange, but it may be the key restoring her youth and beauty.

She lets the water run over her body. The clear liquid washes away pink, stained by the house-elf's blood. Elladora can feel the difference already, and a small smile tugs at her lips.

She plucks the towel from where it hangs, slightly annoyed that she has to do it herself. Perhaps she should have invested in a few extra house-elves; when she goes to the agency, she'll make sure to get at least two so that she doesn't have to be inconvenienced lie this again.

With the plush towel wrapped around her thin figure, she steps out of the tub and makes her way to the mirror once again. She pushes her mess of dark, wet curls from her face and studies her reflection. The lines are still there, but she thinks they are less visible now. Even better, when she trails her finger over her face, her skin is baby soft. A broad grin tugs at her lips. She has discovered the fountain of youth, but now she has to make sure it doesn't run dry.

…

"Your house-elf is quite old, isn't she?" Elladora asks Ursula the next day during their weekly tea and gossip session. For emphasis, she swipes her gloved finger over the table. It comes away with a grey streak of dust, and Elladora tuts. "Such a waste. Years of service, then they start going downhill."

Her sister-in-law shifts uncomfortably, a dusty pink staining her pale cheeks. "What can you do?" she asks with a dismissive wave of her hand. "She'll be here until she dies."

"And her carelessness will make you a laughingstock," Elladora points out, offering Ursula a sweet smile and hoping she comes off as concerned. "I know the Flints are a good family, but you aren't raised with the same standards we were."

Ursula's blush darkens. She tugs at a loose blonde curl, swallowing dryly. "Laughingstock?" she echoes. "We… People talk?"

"When you're a Black, people always talk, dear," Elladora says gently. "If your servant is causing that talk to be negative… Well, there are solutions. I can even make sure your house-elf's service can be memorialized."

"How?"

"Off with her head." Elladora draws her index finger over her throat. "It will be painless; I can promise you that. You can have the head mounted and displayed. My poor Nellie had to be euthanized last night. She was becoming as careless as your house-elf seems to be."

Ursula hesitates. Finally, she shrugs and offers Elladora a quick nod. "If you're sure…"

"Of course I am."

"Junie! Come here!"

Elladora smiles when the house-elf hobbles into the parlor, holding a tea tray in her trembling hands. Obtaining her youthful elixir is easier than she would have ever imagined.


	30. Finding Family

_Hogwarts Assignment 5, Art History, task 2: Write about something good happening on a starry night._

 _Word Count: 939_

* * *

Marius stands on the balcony, leaning against the railing. Above him, the stars twinkle, shining against the inky black sky. Below, the city is alive with bustling, chattering people and the deep rumble of those strange things that Josephine calls automobiles.

Marius watches, his storm cloud grey eyes heavy with sleep, though his mind is far too restless to drift off. He scans the city streets below him, searching desperately for something familiar— his father's neatly trimmed beard, Pollux's freckled face, Dorea's chestnut curls. It's become a game of his. Over the past month, he's refused to give up hope; he's come out on the balcony, so sure that his family will find him.

It hasn't happened yet, but it will. This will all blow over, and his father will change his mind.

Marius turns his gaze to the sky, seeking out the brightest star. When he finds it, he whispers, "I wish for my family."

"Marius? There you are!" Josephine Murray appears behind him, a worried smile on her plump face. "Look at you! Outside without a coat! You'll catch your death, honey."

Marius resists the urge to scowl. The Murrays have been kind to him and have rescued him from the streets. The least he can do is refrain from being rude to them. "Sorry, Josephine," he mutters, offering her a crooked smile.

By now, he's learned a lot about Josephine and her husband. One of the most important things is that all it takes to melt her heart and keep him out of trouble is a small quirk of his lips.

"Come inside, love," she says warmly, offering him her hand. "Thomas and I want to talk to you before you go to bed."

Marius feels his stomach turn acidic at that. The last time two adults wanted to talk to him, his father had beaten him within an inch of his life, trying one last time to force his magic out. He swallows dryly and reminds himself that Josephine and Thomas are good people. They have shown him nothing but kindness, and he has no reason to be nervous.

Still, his heart races as he follows the Muggle woman inside.

Thomas is waiting for them in the living room. He sets the newspaper aside as Josephine leads Marius to the chair by the window. Marius is grateful. At least he can still watch the stars through the glass.

"Josephine and I have been talking," Thomas announces, his long fingers restlessly tapping against the arm of the chair. He glances at his wife, and she offers him a reassuring smile. "You know, we wanted a child for quite some time."

Marius nods. Josephine has told him as much over the past month. She's spent so much time apologizing for fussing over him, always explaining that he's just like the son they've always wanted.

His heart sinks. Is this their way of telling him they've finally succeeded? They've told him before that it's impossible, but impossible things happen all the time. Now he just knows that Josephine is pregnant, and they'll throw him out on the streets. It seems like a silly thing to think, but he remembers his father talking about how evil Muggles can be. They don't always think rationally.

"Marius, love?" Josephine rushes to his side, brushing her fingers through his dark curls. "Why are you crying?"

He rubs his eyes. Sure enough, tears trickle out. He shakes his head, furiously wiping away the tears. He may be a Squib, but he is still a Black, and Blacks don't cry.

A tense silence hangs in the room for several seconds. Finally, Thomas clears his throat. "As I was saying," he continues, rubbing his greying, thinning hair with his palm, "we've always wanted a child, but the universe so rarely cares about what any of us want."

Marius nods, but he isn't sure where this is going. Josephine continues to stroke his hair, and he allows himself to relax, if only a little.

"Having you here has been such a joy," Josephine adds, her crystal blue eyes twinkling so brightly that they could rival his beloved stars. "It's like the universe brought you into our lives for a reason."

This time, he's all too aware of the tears that begin to fall. He feels the warm drops streak his face; he doesn't bother wiping them away.

"How would you like to stay with us?" Thomas asks. "Permanently. As our son."

Marius' jaw drops. He looks between the two of them, waiting for the punchline. There is only sincerity in their eyes. A floodgate seems to lift, and there's no stopping the tears now.

He had hoped his family would change their minds and come back for him. Even knowing how impossible it is, he has held on to that dream, wishing on stars night after night. Now, it seems silly. He's had a family this whole time, but he's never really noticed until this moment.

Maybe they're Muggles, and he's still trying to unlearn the prejudices he's been raised with, but they've been nothing but good to him. How has been unable to see that this has been more than kindness? Perhaps it's because he's never really what having a family meant. Not really, at least. The Blacks raised him with icy hearts and iron fists, never showing him warmth or love. The Murrays, on the other hand, are everything that he's longed for.

"Well?" Josephine prompts, smiling broadly.

Marius nods. "I'd like that."

He's been waiting for his family to find him. Now, he understands that he is the one who found his family.


	31. It Hurts To Become

_Hogwarts Assignment 5_

 _Gardening, task 3: Write a fic that spans a year_

 _A/N: It may seem strange that I continue to use she/her pronouns for Phoebe, but it's keeping with the era, not to mention that, given the Blacks' ways, Phoebe wouldn't quite understand that pronouns could be changed and whatnot_

* * *

 _July 18_

"Is she ready?"

"Almost, Mistress," Mimsy squeaks.

Phoebe lifts her gaze to the mirror and finds her mother reflected in the glass, watching her. Phoebe stands a little straighter. Her mother may favor her over her siblings, but Phoebe is still too familiar with her wrath. Even the slightest slouch can be seen as an insult to the family and will be met with severe punishment.

"My beautiful birthday girl," her mother says fondly.

Phoebe tries to offer her a smile, but the other house-elf, Bonnie, chooses that moment to tug at the corset's laces. It feels as though her ribs have crushed her lungs, drawing all oxygen from her body, and all she can manage is a pained wince.

Her mother steps closer, dark eyes narrowing. "You're sixteen now," she says sharply, circling her daughter like a vulture waiting for a dying animal to become its next meal. "Why has your body not blossomed?"

Phoebe keeps her expression neutral. Her mother's gaze is too sharp, and she would see if the slightest quirk of her lips. Her eyes remain on her reflection, trying to notice anything but her body.

"When I was your age, my breasts were much larger than these," her mother continues, prodding her thin finger against Phoebe's chest. Even with the support from the corset, there is very little there. "And your hips… How do you expect to birth heirs when your hips are so narrow?"

"I'm not sure, Mother," Phoebe says as Bonnie begins to pull her dark hair back and twisting it into elaborate knots that Phoebe's clumsy fingers could never manage.

"Do you have any idea the trouble your father is having? Imagine the scandal of such a beautiful, worthy girl being unable to find a suitor because so many believe that she is, in fact, our son."

Phoebe doesn't bother telling her that she has little desire to marry, and that she has even less desire to have children. Alexia enjoys teasing Phoebe for her flat figure, but Phoebe doesn't care. There's something liberating about the way she is built. If not for her hair and feminine features, perhaps she could truly pass as a boy…

She wonders why that idea sounds lovely.

"Are you listening to me?" her mother snaps, pinching Phoebe's arm sharply and drawing her out of her thoughts.

"I shall try to do better mother," she says, her thin, rose pink lips pulling into her most charming smile. "I promise."

But even as the words leave her lips, she knows it's a promise she cannot hope to keep.

* * *

 _July 26_

Phoebe has to be careful. Even if Licorus is out with their father, there is still so much risk in what she's doing. Mimsy or Bonnie could see her. Alexia could be hiding in the shadows, eager to rush off to their mother and reveal that Phoebe, the perfect daughter, is infinitely less perfect than everyone seems to think. So many things could go wrong,

Still, she doesn't care. This strange urge has been in her head since her birthday. Her mother's words continue to echo in her mind.

S _o many believe that she is, in fact, our son._

There's a strange comfort in that. It feels like finally finding a pair of gloves that fit perfectly. _Son._

She opens the door and looks around as though her brother might suddenly appear. Her body is tense and rigid, and she finds herself holding her breath.

"Stop being ridiculous," she mutters, shaking her head.

Phoebe carefully closes the door, wincing at the sound of it clicking into place. Even though it's barely audible, she's still afraid it will alert the entire household. She waits for several seconds, listening for telltale signs of movement and noise on the other side. Only when she's satisfied that no one is aware of her presence does she relax and cross the room, her bare feet sinking into the grey carpet.

She opens his wardrobe, her grey eyes wide with excitement. Her brother's clothes look so much more appealing than her own. Licorus does not have to concern himself with corsets and jewels. All he needs to remind the world of his status is a perfectly tailored suit.

She plucks a charcoal grey suit and holds it up, admiring the simplicity. Really, it isn't fair. Men can wear whatever they please, and it's perfectly fine. Women, on the other hand, must have their hair brushed and styled to keep up with the latest fashions. Their faces must be perfectly painted. Even leisurely clothes are ridiculously elegant.

But this…

She peels away her layers, her dress and petticoat pooling at her feet. The suit call to her, and she cannot resist. Phoebe carefully puts it on, admiring herself in the mirror.

Licorus, though younger, is taller than her, and the trousers are much too long and have to be rolled up. Otherwise, it is nearly perfect.

Nearly.

She tugs at her black locks, scowling. Her mother rarely even allows her to trim her hair, and her curls cascade down her back, stopping just below her waist. No man has hair this long.

Phoebe shakes her head. Why should she care how men wear their hair? She is just a girl; it is not any business of hers.

And yet she realizes that she hates her hair and curses it as though it betrays her.

* * *

 _September 1_

She doesn't know why it feels like a blessing to be away from home. This is hardly the first time she's left for school, but it feels different.

Home has felt strangely suffocating lately, and Phoebe can't quite put her finger on exactly why. There's something about being in that place that that just feels wrong.

Well, if she's honest, it isn't just home that feels wrong; it's her. She doesn't understand why, but her skin feels a little too tight, like it's going to burst open, and she's going to spill out onto the floor. There's a constant twitch in her posture, and she doesn't know how to stop it. Every nerve in her body seems to be on fire, and there's no way to put it out.

Returning to Hogwarts doesn't quite calm her, but it's a start. She feels as though she can relax, if only a little.

* * *

 _October 30_

"Why do you need to borrow my clothes?" Licorus asks, folding his arms over his chest.

Phoebe thinks he's trying to look impressive. Really, he just looks like a child on the verge of a tantrum. "Because it's Halloween," she points out. "Won't it be an interesting costume?"

Her brother doesn't look convinced. His dark eyes flicker away from her, and she follows his gaze to the Hufflepuff table. His lips quirk into a small smile when a bright and beaming boy grins at him. "Father would never approve," he says flatly.

Phoebe feels her lips tug into a satisfied smile as understanding dawns on her. "Father also wouldn't approve of his son being intimate with a Hufflepuff… A Hufflepuff _boy_ , to be more specific."

The dark pink that stains her brother's pale face is absolutely delicious. Phoebe feels a triumphant pride pulse through her slender body, and a broad grin spreads across her face.

"It's just a costume," he decides.

"A costume."

* * *

 _October 31_

It takes less than half an hour for her to be called into her Head of House's office. Phoebe smiles politely, folding her hands in her lap.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It's a costume," she says sweetly. "Today is Halloween.

"I'm well aware of what today is. Your outfit is inappropriate, Miss Black."

Her confidence falters ever so slightly. She glances down out the collared shirt, vest, and trousers. It covers just as much skin as her own clothes, and she doesn't see how it can be considered inappropriate.

"You will change."

She almost laughs at that. Since her birthday, she's been trying to change. She's been searching for the right skin that fits comfortably over her bones and doesn't make her feel like a mistake.

"If you do not, I will have no choice but to send a letter to your parents."

It isn't a threat, just a simple statement of truth. And yet it's enough to strike fear in her heart. Here, safe at Hogwarts, she can at least pretend that she is something more than just Phoebe Black, the beautiful girl who will be married off without any say in the matter. If her parents discover that she's trying to be something else— someone else— there will be hell to pay.

"That won't be necessary, sir," she assures him quickly, offering him her most dazzling smile. "I'll change my outfit."

He reaches out a gnarled, lined hand and pats her cheek, smiling a dangerous, toothy smile. "Good girl," he says. "Such a good girl. Remember, Miss Black, traditions are in place for a reason. They keep us strong. This may seem like a silly costume, but even the slightest hint of rebellion is a sign that the greatest families are weakening. You don't want to be the downfall of the House of Black, do you?"

"Of course not, Professor," she says quietly, staring pointedly at her feet.

She feels his hand on her again, resting on her shoulder this time. He leaves it there long enough for the unwanted contact to make her feel sick. Finally, he moves it, his fingertips brushing over her neck. "Such a good girl."

* * *

 _November 10_

Phoebe tries to conform. She really does. She stays close to the few girls in her House, going through the motions of belonging.

Her skin seems to shrink a little bit more. She wonders how long it will take her to finally burst.

* * *

 _December 23_

"Miss Phoebe." Bonnie appears in the music room, bowing and mumbling an apology for her intrusion. "Master Oberon is wanting to speak with you in his study."

Phoebe abandons the violin, returning it and its bow to its case. "Thank you, Bonnie," she says, climbing to her feet and desperately smoothing out any creases in her skirt.

Her mother may enjoy picking apart little flaws in Phoebe's appearance, but her father treats it like a hobby. She still remembers the time Alexia was locked in the basement for a week because a few strands of her hair were loose and wild at a formal event.

Satisfied that she won't face punishment, she hurries along to his study. "You wished to see me, Father?"

"Phoebe, come in," he says, setting his quill aside. "I have excellent news."

"Sir?"

Her father's storm grey eyes find hers, and she gets the feeling whatever he finds so excellent will not make her happy. There's a little too much mania in his glee. "Samson Parkinson has a son," he says. "He's nearing forty, and his wife died in childbirth. Henry. Fine family."

Phoebe feels her stomach grow sour. Her father only ever speaks like this when he finds a potential suitor. At least the last few have been closer to her age. Phoebe may abhor the thought of marrying a man, but marrying a man more than twice her age is enough to make her feel sick. "I see."

"I have already spoken with Samson," her father continues. "Henry is willing to have a marriage contract drawn up before the year is over. You will be married a week after your seventeenth birthday."

"Father—"

His eyes narrow, and there's a tension in his jaw that makes Phoebe lose her voice. The sentence dies on her lips.

"You will be married next summer," he says sharply, an air of finality in his words. "It is your duty as a Black woman. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father."

* * *

 _January 1_

She is not a girl. Phoebe can't explain it, but she can feel it.

This body and its horrid, feminine parts does not belong to her.

She is a boy.

But how can she live as one?

* * *

 _January 16_

Licorus finds her by the fireplace in the common room. "There's something different about you," he says.

She shrugs.

Truthfully, she's bound her chest. Though her breasts are not impressive, they are still there, and they are a problem. Still, she cannot risk admitting even a small truth to her younger brother. His friendship with the Hufflepuff is still quite scandalous, and she has no doubt that Licorus will use any information against her to get back in their father's good graces.

"Whatever it is," he says, "it suits you. You look happier."

If she's honest, she feels happier. It's such a small step toward abandoning her childhood and trading it for masculinity, but it is a start.

* * *

 _March 21_

Phoebe pulls her hair back, toying with the idea of the perfect length. Licorus' hair falls to his shoulders, and he is considered masculine enough.

She adjusts her grip so that her hair appears to be around the same length as his. Her feminine face still gives her away, but she thinks she could pull this off.

With a wave of her wand, she summons a pair of silver scissors. Her hand trembles violently as she opens them against her mess of dark hair.

* * *

 _March 22_

"Mother is going to murder you!" Alexia's crystal blue eyes twinkle with delight. "Such pretty hair, wasted."

Phoebe ignores and keeps her head held high.

Boys are not pretty. She will not be pretty.

* * *

 _May 7_

She does not dare wear her brother's clothes outside the dormitory. There are too many people who would love to tell her parents what she is doing.

But here, she is safe.

"I like your suit."

Phoebe looks up to see Moira Flint standing in the doorway, her golden brown eyes moving appreciatively over Phoebe's body. Phoebe smiles, adjusting her tie. "Do you?"

"You're very handsome." Moira tugs at her white blonde curls, biting her lip. "I don't understand how. Girls aren't handsome."

"I'm not a girl."

It's the first time she's dared to speak the words aloud, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest. Moira doesn't question it or call her mad. She just smiles a curious smile, a beautiful pink staining her cheeks. "Then you're a handsome boy."

* * *

 _May 18_

They walk along the lake, careful not to stand close together. It doesn't matter that Phoebe is not a girl. The rest of the world will see her as one, and the scandal of two girls getting too close would be unbearable for their families.

"I rather like you," Phoebe says.

There's that blush again. She wonders if Moira knows how beautiful she looks when she blushes. "I rather like you too. It's a shame I have to marry Tybalt Lestrange," she says with a huff, her plump pink lips pursing into a pout.

"I have to marry Henry Parkinson," Phoebe says bitterly.

"I would rather marry you."

The words catch Phoebe off guard. To others, it might seem too soon for such a sentiment, but they live in a world where someone may become betrothed before they even reach thirteen. Marriage is not about love; it's about duty. But Phoebe thinks she would love Moira if given the chance.

"We could. Well… Maybe not marry one another," Phoebe says softly. "But we could be together. We'll be seventeen, and we can take control of our lives."

"Can we?"

"Without a doubt."

* * *

 _June 1_

She is a boy who is in love with a girl.

* * *

 _June 30_

"I turn seventeen on the eighteenth," Phoebe says, smiling down at Moira, whose head is resting in her lap. She pushes her fingers through the girl's curls. "We can leave the moment it's midnight."

Moira returns her smile. She captures Phoebe's hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "I like that idea. I shall be waiting for you."

She's been dreading her birthday since December. Knowing that she is expected to wed so soon after turning eighteen has made a celebratory day feel more like a noose around her neck. Not anymore. Now, she has Moira. Maybe they can't have a perfect life together, but it doesn't matter; they can write their own happy ending.

"I love you."

Moira's slender fingers graze Phoebe's cheek. "I love you too."

She wonders if she will be the first Black to choose love over duty.

* * *

 _July 1_

"What have you done to your hair?" Her mother's eyes are wild as she storms over to Phoebe.

Phoebe pushes a hand through her mercifully short hair, smiling at how easy it is to manage. "I wanted to try something different."

Her mother's nostrils flare, her eyes narrowing. She grabs Phoebe's arm in a bruising grip and forcefully pulls her along. "How many people saw you with that haircut?" she demands. "Do you even care what you are doing to our family's name? You were such a pretty girl!"

Phoebe doesn't bother to correct her. If she plays along for a while longer, she will have everything she wants. She just has to be the perfect daughter, then she can be the wayward son they never knew existed.

* * *

 _July 17_

Her bags are already packed. There isn't much to carry— a few books, her brush, suits stolen from Licorus.

Her eyes watch the clock. Three minutes until midnight.

Can she really do this? She has spent so much time planning and preparing, but now that it's time, her nerve threatens to fade away.

She shakes her head. She can't think like that. Moira will be waiting for her, and Phoebe would hate herself forever if she disappointed Moira.

One minute left.

This is her chance at happiness. Staying would mean Henry Parkinson and the misery of being a housewife, but running away means days of endless bliss with Moira.

There's really no other option. She will always choose Moira.

The clock sounds, signalling midnight.

* * *

 _July 18_

She is a boy, and Moira is by her side.

The world is strange and scary, and Phoebe doesn't know how to navigate it. But it doesn't matter.

They'll figure it out together.


	32. Pieces

_For Hogwarts Assignment 5_

 _Charms: Write about someone trying to clean up the mess they made._

 _Warning: abortion_

 _Word Count: 1062_

* * *

Lysandra Yaxley has been raised to know that women of her status are meant to be delicate, tender things, who speak only in the softest of tones.

When the diagnostic spell is complete, however, and there's no way to deny the proof before her eyes, she screams and curses so loudly that even the filthiest of Muggles would blush.

She slumps to the floor, resting her head against the wall. Tears cling to her long lashes, and she doesn't bother wiping them away.

"Phineas," she whispers.

* * *

" _You shouldn't be here, Lysandra," he says, but he doesn't close the door in her face. "If anyone finds out…"_

" _I can handle myself, Phineas," she says softly._

 _She wants to cry. It's been a week since he came to her, telling her that he's been disowned; it's been a week since her father announced that she would marry Arcturus. She still wishes he would allow her to stay by his side, that she could live with herself knowing she's ruined her family's reputation._

 _For several moments, neither of them speak. His dark eyes lock with her blue ones. Silence passes between them._

 _Finally, he reaches out, pulling her close._

* * *

Phineas is her betrothed's brother, and they look similar enough. Both have the dark eyes and darker hair, the proud, strong set of their jaws. She could take Arcturus to bed before their wedding. When the baby is born…

She shakes her head. Even as she thinks it, she knows how terrible the idea is. Arcturus is a cruel man whose touches are more steel than silk. There's no way she would allow him to raise her beloved Phineas' child as his own.

Her fingers tug anxiously at her blonde curls. A wave of nausea washes over her, but she can't be bothered to move. She doubles over, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the immaculate tile.

"Hemmy!" she shouts, leaning back against the wall again and wiping the traces of sick from around her mouth. "Hemmy!"

There's a _pop_ as the house-elf appears.

* * *

 _His fingers tangle in her hair. The touch sends a thrill of excitement down her spine. "Lysandra," he whispers, his voice heavy with desire._

 _She knows that she should say no. Good, pure women don't do this sort of thing; good, pure women remain chaste until their wedding nights, because anything else is far too scandalous. For once, however, she realizes that she doesn't want to be a good, pure woman._

 _His lips find hers, and be kisses her fiercely. Lysandra moans into his mouth, her eyes closing. "We don't have to," he whispers, his warm breath tickling her neck. "It won't change anything."_

 _She knows he's right. In the end, she will still be promised to his brother. But there is something satisfying in knowing that Phineas will be the first one to have her, the only one to_ truly _have her._

" _I want to."_

* * *

"Miss Lysandra is sick," Hemmy frets, his tiny hands pressing against her forehead. "But you isn't running a fever."

"Different kind of sick."

The house-elf summons a cool, damp rag, gently wiping Lysandra's face. It's a small comfort, but it's enough to give her some relief. After a moment, Hemmy hands her the rag before turning his attention to the vomit that has splattered and pooled across the grey and black marble.

"Hemmy is hoping Miss Lysandra is okay," he says as he begins to clean. "Miss Lysandra is always kind to Hemmy."

She feels a twinge of guilt. Once, she was just as cruel as the rest of her family. Phineas changed her for the better.

"Hemmy," she says, "I need you to go to Knockturn Alley for me. There are… I need some things."

"Of course, Miss Lysandra! Hemmy is happy to help. Let's be getting you up to bed to rest."

* * *

" _I love you," he whispers as they lay together, their bodies entwined beneath the cotton sheets. His finger trails over her exposed collarbone._

 _Lysandra turns, studying him. He is gorgeous like this—sweat glistening over his bare chest, his pale skin bathed in milky moonlight, a satisfied smile on his full lips. She wishes she could lay with him forever, that she wasn't too much of a coward to put duty before her heart. "I love you too."_

 _If only it could make things better._

* * *

"Is Miss Lysandra needing anything else?" Hemmy asks.

Lysandra shakes her head. "Leave me. Please."

Part of her wants to ask him to stay. She is about to go through hell, and it would be easier to have a hand to hold. Still, she doesn't. The only hand she wants to hold is Phineas'.

She makes quick work of it. Within minutes, the herbs and ingredients are ground into a fine powder. Lysandra's hand shakes as she fills her glass with water. Tears burn her eyes, and she lets them fall freely. There is no reason to pretend to be brave. No one is here to see her break.

Taking a deep breath, she scoops a teaspoon of the sickly yellow powder into the water and stirs it until it dissolves. "I'm sorry, Phineas."

It feels so wrong. The unborn child within her womb is the last piece of Phineas she has left. She wishes there was another way out of this mess she's made, but there is no other option. Her family's honor will not be tarnished because of her silly, girlish heart.

She presses the glass to her lips, tilting it forward. The concoction is bitter, but she manages not to gag. Lysandra swallows every drop.

* * *

" _Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we were from different families?" she asks. "If we could marry because we want to marry?"_

 _Phineas rolls onto his side, offering her a mischievous grin. "And who would you choose to marry?" he asks, kissing a trail from her shoulder up to her cheek._

 _Lysandra laughs. "You. I would always choose you."_

* * *

The cramps grip her stomach, twisting it and setting fire to her insides. Lysandra bites down on her sleeve to keep from crying out. If anyone sees her like this, they will discover her secret, and all this will have been for nothing.

She suffers in silence. Even as the blood begins to stain her skirt and run down her legs, she doesn't make a sound.


	33. Silver Lining

_Hogwarts Assignment 7, Careers Advice, task 3: Write about an abusive relationship_

 _Disney Challenge, Piglet: Write about someone who feels small_

 _Days of the Month, Husband Appreciation Day: Write about a husband_

 _Buttons: "That hurt.", respect_

 _Ami's Audio Admirations, #RedRumRose: threat_

 _Build a Bunny: daisies_

 _Astrology Day: Charis Black_

 _Auction: lonely_

 _Word Count: 1449_

* * *

There's a small grin on Callidora's plump lips as she leans in. "Don't look now," she whispers in Charis' ear, "but Caspar Crouch hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for the past half hour."

Charis almost laughs. If her sister is telling the truth, and Caspar Crouch is staring, it's probably only out of pity. Callidora is beautiful; her slender figure, sleek dark hair, and steel grey eyes often leave suitors stumbling over one another as they try to catch her attention. Charis, however, has always been plain. Her dark curls are frizzy, and her hair is too brittle to be considered lovely. Her eyes are brown and boring like mud.

And Caspar Crouch is absolutely gorgeous with his dark blond hair and intense eyes. His strong shoulders command attention, and Charis shivers as she steals a glance at him.

"Calli," she whispers, gripping her sister's wrist roughly. "Calli! He's looking this way!"

Callidora snorts. "I told you so."

"Why doesn't he come over?" Charis asks, unable to resist the nerves that turn her stomach sour without warning. She knows the answer, of course. No one would ever want someone as ugly and simple as her, and he is staring at her with the same detached curiosity of a student seeing a Flobberworm for the first time.

Callidora affectionately brushes her thin fingers through her sister's coarse hair. "You worry too much, love," she says. "Just wait."

She waits, but he never approaches her. Even if she isn't surprised, she's still disappointed.

…

She's in the garden, collecting a fresh bouquet of daisies for her room when her father finds her. There's something in his dark eyes that makes her relax. After Cedrella's betrayal, her father has been in a foul mood. Now, his thin lips tug into a hint of smile and he's nearly glowing.

"I have found you a husband, dear girl," he says, and the relief in his tone is almost hurtful.

Charis understands. Everyone has been worried that she would remain unwanted. If no one takes a chance on her, she's sure to spend the last of her days as a miserable spinster who will never know how sweet a man's touch can be. Now, with her seventeenth birthday on the horizon, they can all rest easy. Perhaps she is a late bloomer, but someone has taken interest at last.

"Caspar Crouch seems quite smitten with you," her father adds.

Heat creeps into her cheeks at that name. Perhaps Callidora had been right after all.

…

Charis fears she might faint as she walks down the aisle. By some miracle, she keeps her head high and her stride steady. As she comes to a stop before Caspar, she trembles, a shy smile on her lips.

The ceremony drags on, and Charis wants nothing more than for it to be over. She wants to be Charis Crouch, to be Caspar's wife and feel like nothing else in the world matters. Her mind wanders, imagining how sweet their first kiss as husband and wife will feel, that she misses her moment to speak.

Cheeks hot with embarrassment, Charis nods. "I do."

Caspar lifts the veil, and Charis' stomach twists into knots. "You look beautiful," he whispers before his lips find hers.

For the first time in her life, Charis _feels_ beautiful too.

…

It takes only two months for her fairytale to end.

…

"What's this?" Caspar asks, plucking the daisies from the vase in the kitchen.

"I thought they would brighten the place up," Charis answers, confused by the anger in his voice.

It's such a small thing, after all. Plenty of people add flowers to a room for decoration. Even her father, as stern as he may be, has never had any issues with a decorative bouquet.

Her husband's face darkens, his cheeks stained a nasty shade of red. His fingers curl inward, transforming his hands into fists. "Brighten it up?" he asks. "Are you implying there's something wrong with our home, Charis?"

"Of course not. I only—"

Her sentence dies, the words replaced by a scream as Caspar knocks the vase to the floor, shattering it. "Keep in mind that it is _my_ gold that takes care of you," he growls. "I don't care how small a decision is, you don't get to make it without me. Is that understood?"

Charis nods mutely.

With another growl, Caspar reaches out, gripping her wrist so roughly that Charis can feel her skin bruising already. "That hurts!" she cries.

"Good. Maybe it will remind you to answer me the next time I ask you a question," he says. "Let's try this again. You don't make any decisions without me. Is that understood?"

Charis swallows dryly. The hesitation seems to be too much because Caspar squeezes her wrist tighter. "Yes!" Tears spill from her eyes. "I understand."

Caspar lets go of her wrist at last, fixing her with a charming smile. Despite his strange outburst and the pain in her wrist, Charis can't help but to melt at that smile. "Good girl," her husband says softly. "Now, clean up this mess."

…

Some days are good. Charis lives for those days where Caspar's touch is gentle and kind, and she can recognize her husband.

Other days are waking nightmares. There is only pain and fear, and Charis doesn't understand how a man who can be so good can become a monster in the blink of an eye.

Charis begins to fade. It's easy enough for her to do. After all, she's always been overlooked and unloved. It's easy for her to become so small that she almost disappears.

…

His palm strikes her cheek, and Charis inhales sharply, staggering back. She doesn't cry. By now, she's learned that crying only makes things worse.

"Stupid girl," he says, his fingers tangling roughly in her hair. He pulls, and she can feel strands being tugged painfully from the roots.

She doesn't know what she's done to deserve this beating, but she knows it's her fault. She hasn't shown him proper respect, perhaps. Or maybe he thinks her dress reveals a touch too much of her ankle. Whatever the reason, she collapses in on herself, and she begins to shrink again.

All she has to do is keep quiet. It will all be over soon.

…

"Charis, love!" Callidora wraps her arms around Charis.

The embrace hurts, and it takes every ounce of strength not to flinch. "Calli," she says weakly. "Good to see you again."

"Is something wrong?" her older sister asks, frowning. "You look… different."

Charis considers lying. Would anyone even care to know her husband is hurting her? Most people wouldn't, she supposes. But Callidora should. They're sisters who have been nearly inseparable for over two decades. Callidora will understand; maybe she will even know what to do.

"Caspar…" She doesn't know how to continue. It should be easy enough to let the words fall from her lips, but shame stops her. Instead, she shakes her head, offering her sister a shaky smile. "Caspar fired our house-elf. I'm just a bit tired from having tending to the house."

"How dreadful! Don't worry. I'm sure you'll have a new one soon, and you'll be able to go back to your life of luxury."

Charis laughs. She wonders if Callidora can hear how hollow the sound is. "Yeah. Luxury," she says. "I hope so."

…

Charis stands before the mirror, letting her dress drop to the floor and pool at her feet. Her pale skin is marbled with nasty blues, purples, and yellows. Here and there, the his wrath has lead to broken skin, and fresh scratches and scrapes litter her body.

She places a trembling hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that threatens to escape.

This isn't the life she had imagined when her father had approached her in the garden with what she'd believed to be the most wonderful news. Marriage may not always be about love, but Charis is fairly certain that it shouldn't be about pain.

Tears fall from her eyes, leaving salty streaks along her cheeks. Sniffling, she wipes them away and quickly dresses herself again.

She wonders if her existence will always feel so lonely.

…

Hope flutters through her body, tickling her stomach at the news.

 _Pregnant_.

Charis can't fight the smile that pulls at her lips. Caspar may be a cruel man, but he won't hurt their child, their heir.

Maybe it isn't a perfect life, and her days will forever be an endless cycle of collecting bruises and making excuses, but it doesn't matter. She has found her silver lining.


	34. Before It's Too Late

_Assignment 8, American History, task 7: Write about forgiveness_

 _Auction: reverent_

 _Astrology: Alphard_

 _Word Count: 2479_

 _Beta'd by Bex and Sam because they are lovely._

* * *

I.

Alphard keeps the smile on his lips even as his sister's eyes narrow suspiciously at him. "Smile, my dear Wally," he says brightly, reaching out and ruffling her dark hair, trying not to laugh as rogue strands escape her bun to give her a disheveled appearance.

Walburga does not follow his suggestion. Her thin lips remain fixed in a hard line. "And to what do I owe the pleasure, Alphard?" she asks stiffly, folding her arms over her chest.

"It's Sirius' birthday," he answers. "You know my tradition. And with it being his eleventh birthday... "

Over the years, Alphard has noticed the abuse and neglect his eldest nephew has suffered. No one dares to mention it or take action. Even Alphard is too afraid of his sister to do anything directly, but he's found a way around it. Every year, without fail, Alphard shows up at Grimmauld Place. Walburga always puts up a fight, but Alphard suspects she's secretly glad to get rid of her eldest son for the day.

"Well, this will be the last year of the tradition," he continues when his sister only glares at him. "He'll be our newest Slytherin this time next year." There's a clear note of pride in his tone, and he can't help but grin at the thought of his beloved nephew starting Hogwarts before the year is out.

Walburga does not return his smile. "Kreacher!" she calls sharply. "Fetch the boy. You will not keep him out all night this time, Alphard. I don't want you filling his head with the notion that he can have fun and enjoy life when he has so many duties to fulfill."

He snorts but manages to skillfully disguise it as a cough. It amazes him how much she sounds like their father. Their father had emphasized the fact that life isn't about enjoyment; Alphard had decided to ignore that. "Right. Life is meant to be dreary and dull," he says, his thin lips quirking.

Before Walburga can respond, the house-elf appears, followed closely by Sirius. When the boy sees Alphard, he offers his uncle a broad grin. "Uncle Alphard!"

"Quiet, Sirius! Only filth feel the need to speak so loudly. A proper Black must always be contained and—"

"Yes, yes, Wally," Alphard interrupts. "If you go into that particular lecture, Sirius and I won't have time to enjoy the day."

The eleven year old covers his mouth to muffle a laugh, his grey eyes twinkling with delight. "Can we go out for ice cream, Uncle Alphard?" he asks, taking Alphard by the hand.

"It's your birthday, dear boy. It would be an outrage _not_ to go for ice cream."

…

Alphard studies Sirius quietly as the boy plucks sprinkle after sprinkle from his ice cream and pops the neon rainbow bits of sugar into his mouth. The smile on his nephew's lips is bright, and it pains Alphard to know how rare a genuine smile is for him.

"How is home life?" he asks.

Sirius tenses but doesn't answer. Really, he doesn't have to. By now, Alphard has learned to read his body language—the way the boy swallows dryly and his eyes shift nervously, scanning the crowd as though Walburga or Orion are nearby, waiting to pounce the moment a negative word leaves his lips. Sirius grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth, though there are no chocolate smears streaking his pale skin.

"Home is…" He trails off, eyes still restless and afraid.

Alphard reaches across the table, taking Sirius' slender hand gently in his own. "It's okay, son," he assures him. "You can tell me."

"I wish I could be."

Alphard blinks uncertainly, wondering if he's heard his nephew correctly. "Could be what?"

For several moments, the boy is quiet. His gaze finally stops wandering, and his focus becomes fixed upon his ice cream. "You called me 'son'," he says after a stretch of silence that feels like an eternity. "I wish I could be your son and not your nephew. Then…" A deep pink creeps into his cheeks, and he shakes his head, raking his fingers through his dark, shaggy hair as though trying to hide his blush. "It isn't fair, Uncle Alphard! I don't want to live with them anymore. I want to live with you."

It feels as though something has stabbed Alphard in the heart. He shifts in his chair, rubbing his chest though he knows it won't ease the pain.

This is hardly the first time they've had such conversations. It's one reason why Alphard comes back for him every year. More than anything, he wants to keep Sirius safe, but he knows that would mean crossing Walburga. This subtle rebellion is all he has to offer his beloved nephew. He only hopes that it is enough.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he says quietly.

Sirius scoffs, pushing his half-eaten ice cream aside. "Of course you're sorry. You're always sorry!" The soft pink in his cheek darkens to red. Sirius clenches his fists tightly until his knuckles go white. "You don't care that they hurt me… You don't give a— Why do you even bother? What good are you?"

"Sirius, please—"

The boy climbs to his feet, knocking the chair to the floor in his haste. "I want to go home now."

…

Alphard sits alone in his home, flipping through old photo albums. Sirius' bright face peers up at him, laughing and grinning.

He comes to a stop at a photo taken on Sirius' ninth birthday. The boy's back is to the camera as he sits upon the railing of the pier over the lake. Even from the distance, the finger-shaped bruises on his neck are visible.

"I'm sorry, my boy," he whispers, tracing his finger over his nephew's outline. "I'm so sorry."

Alphard wishes he could do something more, but it's no use. Confronting Walburga will only make things worse.

Sirius may never forgive him, but Alphard hopes he will one day understand.

II.

Sirius is surprised when his brother corners him in the corridor. The two have pointedly pretended not to know one another since Regulus started Hogwarts, and since Sirius left home months ago, the distance seems to have grown.

"Something I can do for you?" Sirius asks stiffly, pulling his arm out of the younger boy's tight grip before brushing his sleeve off.

"Thought you might want to know Uncle Alphard is dying," Regulus answers quietly. He adjusts the silver and emerald tie, though it's already perfectly straight. "Mother says he was asking for you."

Sirius' stomach turns acidic, and his breakfast threatens to snake its way back up his throat. He swallows, but it doesn't settle his stomach.

He hasn't spoken to his uncle since his eleventh birthday, since… He shakes his head. If he allows himself to think about his childish outburst all those years ago, the guilt will consume him again.

There have been several times where he'd considered writing to his uncle to apologize. After running away from home, he'd even considered visiting Uncle Alphard and asking for forgiveness in person. In the end, even if he's a bold, daring Gryffindor, he has proven to be nothing more than a coward; he has been far too afraid to face the man who had been so much like a father to him.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sirius asks, folding his arms over his chest and meeting his brother's gaze.

To his surprise, Regulus' storm cloud eyes are kind. He takes no delight in delivering this news. "I thought you should know," he says with a shrug. "I know how close you and Uncle Alphard were, and Mother won't tell you."

 _Were_. The word makes Sirius flinch. If Regulus notices, he doesn't comment. Sirius clears his throat, managing to keep himself composed. "Thanks," he says, shrugging. "Not sure what I can do about it, but cheers."

His brother snorts, rolling his eyes. "Right. Not like Christmas holiday is coming up," he muses before walking away, leaving Sirius to scowl at the empty spot he had once occupied.

…

Sirius hesitates outside the familiar mahogany door, staring at the scratches that have worn away the gloss. He takes a deep breath that fails to steady his nerves. Maybe he should have let James come with him after all. At least this wouldn't be so scary now.

Trying to ignore the way his body trembles, he lifts his hand, hesitates briefly, then knocks. Several seconds pass before a young witch with dirty blonde hair pulled into a tight braid opens the door. Her green eyes study him for a moment before she sighs. "Mr. Black is quite ill, young man. Only family can—"

"I am family," he assures her, gesturing at his face. Between the grey eyes and high cheekbones, there's no denying the family resemblance. "Sirius Black. I'm his nephew."

The witch purses her plump lips, her eyes narrowing. Finally, she shrugs and leads him inside. "I trust you've been informed of his state," she says simply.

His state. Sirius swallows dryly, nodding. "Yes. He's… I have."

"We're keeping him sedated with the Draught of Living Death," she continues. "The potions for pain stopped working, and this was the only way to keep him comfortable."

"Oh."

He doesn't know what else to say. Somehow, the words feel like a slap in the face. He had come to make amends at last, and he can't even do that. Part of him considers turning and running. He doesn't. He has to see this through.

The woman opens the door to Uncle Alphard's room and offers Sirius a small, reassuring smile. "I'll give you some privacy," she tells him. "If you need me, I'll be just down the hall, love."

Sirius barely recognizes the man in the bed. Uncle Alphard's skin has become ghostly white, and it stretches grotesquely over his bones. His dark hair has become more grey than black. Worst of all, though, is the fact that his limbs look so arthritic and gnarled. Uncle Alphard had loved to stay active; he would hate this life of confinement.

For a moment, Sirius almost runs. He's seen his uncle, and there is no hope of asking the old man to forgive him. But he can't bring himself to move. This could be his last moment with Uncle Alphard. How can he give it up?

"I don't know if you can hear me," he says softly. "Evans would know. She's ridiculously smart. She'd be the one to know if that potion makes you… Well, anyway…"

He scrubs a hand over his neck, exhaling deeply as he lets his words trail off. His gaze flickers to the window, and a small smile tugs at his lips. From the window, Sirius can see the lake. He remembers being nine years old and sitting on the railing, giggling as he let his feet dangle. His mother never would have let him do it, but Uncle Alphard had snapped a photograph, laughing along with him.

"I know why you did it," he sighs, shaking his head. "I really do. But I was a kid. I was stupid. I shouldn't have… I don't know if you ever forgave me. I hope so. I didn't—"

His words become tight and choked. Only when Sirius touches his cheek with trembling fingertips does he realize he's crying.

"I'm sorry."

…

"Do you need me to stay with you?" Fleamont asks, wiping his glasses on his shirt before returning them to his face.

Sirius considers. It would be amazing to have James' dad keep him company while he sits through this meeting with the Ministry official who is in charge of Uncle Alphard's estate. He wouldn't mind having someone hold his hand through it.

But he can't. For some reason, it feels intrusive.

Sirius offers his guardian a smile and shakes his head. "I've got this," he assures him.

Fleamont hesitates before nodding. "If you need me…" He gives Sirius' shoulder a quick squeeze before turning on his heel and striding off.

Sirius takes a deep breath before closing the distance between him and the official. He sits across from the older man, watching curiously as he sorts through his parchment.

"I knew your uncle. Good man," the Ministry worker says reverently, a small smile on his lips. "He wasn't like the rest of your family. No offense."

"None taken," Sirius assures him.

"Ah. Here we are!" the other man says, plucking an envelope from the pile and handing it over. "Alphard requested that no one looks at the contents except for you."

Sirius accepts the envelope, curious. It's heavy, and he can feel the distinct shape of a key inside. Well aware that the other wizard is watching him intently, seemingly just as curious, Sirius rips the envelope. Sure enough, a key falls, landing in his lap.

Sirius doesn't bother with the key. His attention catches on the folded parchment and the familiar elegant handwriting. Hands trembling, he unfolds it.

 _My Dearest Sirius,_

 _If you're reading this, I'm already gone. I don't know how long I have left, but I am not afraid of death. My only hope is that you will remember me fondly, though I'm not sure that you have reason to._

 _I should have done more for you during your childhood. I was delusional enough to believe that stealing you away for a day would make things better. There had to be more that I could have done, but I was afraid of your mother._

 _You were a child, and I failed you. You had every right to be angry. I only hope that you have forgiven me._

 _I couldn't take you away then, but I hope this will be enough to help you now. I am leaving you the key to my vault and all the gold within. Please do not think that I'm trying to buy your forgiveness, my dear boy. I am merely trying to help you, even if it is too late._

 _I will die with but one regret. I never told you how much I wished you could have been my son. If I could have taken you away, I would have._

 _Perhaps this gesture is too little, too late. Regardless, I have no children, and I wish for you to be my heir. Feel free to do with this as you please, dear boy. Whatever you do, know that I will be proud of you._

 _Yours,_

 _Alphard_

Sirius folds the letter carefully before holding it to his chest. He doesn't bother to wipe away the tears that spill from his eyes.

All this time, he's worried that his uncle hadn't forgiven him. Now he knows Uncle Alphard had longed for that same thing.

"Nothing to forgive," he says quietly.

It doesn't make things easier, but he feels as though it's a start.


	35. Happy Endings

_Assignment 8, American History, task 3: Write about forbidden love_

 _Auction: snow_

 _Word Count: 1188_

* * *

Licorus stands in the doorway, unable to speak or move. All he wants to do is stand there for a moment longer, uninterrupted, and take in the sight of his lover's pale skin bathed in the moonlight that filters in through the window. Xavier Rastrick has always been absolutely gorgeous, but tonight he takes Licorus' breath away.

"You're staring," Xavier mutters, biting his thin lips and tugging at his silvery white curls. "Is something wrong?"

Licorus bites back a laugh as a rosy blush stains the other boy's cheeks. "Not from where I'm standing," he answers with a grin, his eyes moving appreciatively over Xavier's body. "Well, you _are_ a bit more clothed than I would like."

Under ordinary circumstances, Xavier would close the distance between them and throw himself in Licorus' arms. Now, however, his blue eyes flicker over Licorus' shoulder. "Did anyone see you?" he asks. "I would hate for your name—"

"No one was around. The innkeeper was asleep at his desk," Licorus assures him. "Now, let _me_ worry about _my_ name."

Really, it's heartwarming. Xavier cares so little about his own name. In the eyes of many noble families, Xavier Rastrick the First has already destroyed the Rastrick family's honor, and the younger Xavier is a Hufflepuff through and through who seems happy to just _be_ and not worry about the connotations attached to his surname. But he knows that Licorus lives a different life where honor and family is everything. Xavier has always taken care to not sully Licorus' reputation.

Before Xavier can argue, Licorus crosses the room in a few quick strides. His fingers tangle in those blond curls he loves so much. A faint gasp escapes Xavier's lips, but Licorus silences him with a rough kiss.

"We… We really—" Xavier's lips move frantically against Licorus ' but he seems incapable of coherent thought. Licorus smirks.

"We shouldn't do—" But Xavier's words fade into a moan as Licorus moves his lips to his neck.

Of course, Licorus knows they shouldn't do this. It's against everything he's been taught, everything his family stands for. Men are meant to love women, not other men. And yet, over the years, he's come to realize that he doesn't give a damn how taboo such a thing is.

"You're get—"

"You are doing an awful lot of talking," Licorus groans, tugging roughly at his lover's shirt. The top button falls away, clattering noisily against the wooden floor. "I can think of better uses for your mouth."

The moan that escapes his lover's throat at that sends a shiver down Licorus' spine. With a grin, he pushes Xavier onto the bed, his fingers working nimbly to unfasten his belt.

He doesn't want to think. Not tonight, not now. He doesn't want to be reminded that tomorrow night he will be expected to consummate his marriage with a woman he will never love.

All he wants is to have this moment, to have Xavier beneath him, moaning and begging.

Nothing else really matters.

…

Xavier is breathless and glistening with sweat as he summons his tobacco pouch and gingerly stuffs aromatic leaves into his pipe before lighting it. Licorus wrinkles his nose. It's such a filthy habit, and he wonders how Xavier manages to make it look so beautiful.

Licorus climbs to his feet, the warm quilt falling away and exposing his bare body. A draft tickles his skin, chilling him, but he doesn't bother to put clothes on. Instead, he makes his way to the window, watching the snow swirl and drift. A smile tugs at his lips. How fitting. It had been snowing the first time he'd told Xavier he loved him. It seems only right that it should snow during his last night with him as a bachelor.

"Get away from the window!" Xavier chuckles. "Anyone passing by can catch a glimpse of your manhood!"

Licorus turns, chuckling. "Anyone bold enough to venture out and freeze their ass off should be rewarded with a glimpse of my manhood," he says, pushing a hand through his dark hair, his full lips pulling back to form a bright, toothy grin.

Xavier looks infinitely less amused. With a shrug of his shoulders, Licorus abandons the window and returns to bed. He watches in silence for several moments as Xavier draws on the pipe and fills the room with a robust bluish smoke.

"Is this goodbye?" Xavier breaks the silence and looks up from his pipe at last, his curious eyes fixed upon Licorus.

"Don't be stupid," Licorus says, stretching out his long legs. "Why would it be goodbye?"

"You're marrying Magenta Tripe tomorrow." Xavier sets the pipe aside, swallowing dryly as be speaks.

The words feel like a slap in the face. It isn't as though he isn't aware of it, but hearing Xavier say it aloud makes it feel painfully real. For a moment, all Licorus can do is wring his hands together and bite the inside of his cheek. "I don't want it to change anything," he manages after what feels like eternity. "Just love me and let me love you, Xavier."

Xavier scoots across the mattress. His slender fingers trace gently over Licorus' high cheekbones. "It's wrong, Cor."

"I know."

And he does. Marriage isn't about happiness. The stories his parents told him as a child never included love or happily ever after. He never knew such things were even possible until Xavier came into his life. Falling in love seemed like such a foreign concept until the boys sat atop the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over the ledge, fingers laced, watching the snow fall and whispering their confessions.

"I know," Licorus repeats, his voice stronger now, "and I don't give a damn. I am marrying her because it's my duty, but I will never love her. You are my only chance at love, and I am not willing to give that up."

His lips find Xavier's. The kiss is gentle this time. There is no demand or desperation on his tongue; there is only an unspoken request that he hopes Xavier can taste on his lips: _love me and let me love you._

When Xavier pulls away, Licorus can see the confusion in his eyes, and he feels as though he can read the other man's thoughts. How can a man with so many moral, a man whose heart is so pure, knowingly and willingly continue to see a married man?

Licorus is about to abandon hope and call it a night, but Xavier reaches for him. "I do not like being your secret," he whispers, fingers ghosting over Licorus' collarbone, "but if it keeps me in your life… I will happily be whatever you need me to be."

And as they sink into the mattress once again, Licorus finds himself smiling. This forbidden love is so very wrong, and a good Pureblood man would be sensible enough to run from it. When Xavier's mouth trails down his body, kissing and nibbling a path from his chest to his hips, however, Licorus knows that he is not a good Pureblood man, and he never will be.


	36. Good Girl

_Auction: Receiving Hogwarts letter_

 _Astrology: Alexia_

 _Disney, Rabbit: Write about someone stamping their foot._

 _Book Club, John Chapman: barefoot, jealousy, crazy_

 _Word Count: 435_

* * *

"It isn't fair!" Alexia whines, stamping her bare foot angrily against the hardwood floor. "It's my letter! They want _me_ at Hogwarts! You can't stop me!"

In that moment, she hates her parents. Phoebe gets to go to Hogwarts. The jealousy burns in Alexia's stomach, and she feels like she might be sick. Her eyes narrow as she scowls at her older sister, as though it's somehow Phoebe's fault.

Perhaps it is. Perhaps Phoebe has done such terrible things at Hogwarts that Alexia has been banned. She is being punished for her sister's sins, and that only makes her blood boil more.

"Enough!" her father snaps, slamming his fist down on the table.

Alexia flinches. Her father is a cruel man who is quick to anger, and she doesn't want to risk driving him over the edge. She and her siblings are all too familiar with his wrath. By age eleven, she has already mastered the art of hiding her bruises.

"Your sister is immune to the rubbish they're teaching there," her father continues. "All this nonsense that witches should have voices and _Mudbloods_ deserve fair treatment. But you, Alexia... You're too soft. Weak. You'll believe these crazy notions."

She wants to protest, to tell him that he's wrong, but she keeps her mouth shut. Her jaw clenches so tightly that it feels like a line of fire is burning through the side of her face.

Alexia thinks that her father might be right. Not about the Mudblood thing, of course. She knows how vile those creatures are, how they've stolen magic in hopes of sullying ancient, pure bloodlines.

But maybe he's right about her weakness. She has spent so much time being a victim. Phoebe has told her stories about Hogwarts. There are girls there who aren't already arranged to marry strange men. Girls who play sports. Girls who learn more than domestic magic and Pureblood etiquette. There's a part of Alexia who longs for that freedom and hates her sister for being able to experience it.

"You will do what is expected of you, Alexia. You will learn domestic magic from your mother and be a good Pureblood. Is that understood?"

Her eyes flicker to the acceptance letter clenched tightly in his hand. It isn't fair. She wants to know what freedom feels like.

In the end, however, she knows it's just a silly fantasy. She will do what is expected of her because it's the only thing she knows.

Alexia nods. "I understand, Father," she says, her voice tense.

Her father beams. "Good girl."

She wishes she could be so much more.


	37. Bloom

_Auction: charcoal_

 _Astrology: Lysandra_

 _Disney, Kanga: "Some people care too much. I think it's called love."_

 _Amber's Attic: quote below_

 _Book Club, Mister Nancy: smoking, yellow gloves, spider_

 _Lyric Alley: Lost and gone so fast_

 _Ami's Audio, King Falls: fall_

 _Word Count: 481_

* * *

" _I know you think this world is too dark to dream in color, but I've seen flowers bloom at midnight."_

 _-Andrea Gibson_

* * *

Lysandra never would have thought the world could be so dark. One moment, she'd had everything. Phineas would have been hers, and they would have eloped. She'd had a future with him, but now it's gone without warning.

She could still have a future with him, but he's so bloody noble. He can live with being disowned and the shame that comes with it but he would not let Lysandra join him in his shame. Maybe she's bitter for it. It hardly seems fair that everything should be taken away from her, that, in her true love's stead, she has been forced to marry his brother.

Arcturus is not Phineas. Where Phineas was kind and gentle, Arcturus is rough and cruel. Once, her lips had known only the softest kisses. Now, she nurses a split lip, carefully applying a healing balm and watching the bloodied skin slowly pull itself back together.

Her husband watches her, puffing away on his pipe and sending charcoal grey clouds of smoke into the air. He taps a yellow gloved finger against the kitchen table as though daring her to challenge him again.

"You're lucky," Arcturus tells her, a wicked smile on his thin lips. "I will never abandon you."

She's certain it's said with affection, but it sounds too much like a threat. There's no fighting the frightened shiver that grips her slender frame.

"My brother didn't care for you," he continues before puffing on his pipe again.

"He did." She knows it's true. Maybe she's still upset with Phineas for leaving, for trapping her in this life, but she understands. He couldn't have provided for her without his family's gold and support. Severing ties, as painful as it had been, is for the best. "Some people care too much. I think it's called love. That's why he left."

She should regret those words, but she stands tall and doesn't back down. Maybe her life has grown dark, but she refuses to continue to shrink and live in fear. Lysandra may be trapped with Arcturus, but she can still bloom; she can still grow.

He's on his feet in an instant. His pipe falls to the floor, tobacco spilling out on the tile. Before Lysandra can even speak, his bony knuckles strike her firmly across the face. Lysandra's head jerks back, and she feels her lip split open again. She doesn't even have a chance to catch herself. He slaps her again, this time sending her crashing to the floor.

Lysandra watches a spider scurry across the tile, and she laughs. She should be afraid. She should scurry just like the spider.

But she isn't; she doesn't. She will find a way to rise above this somehow.

It's what Phineas would have wanted.


	38. Fighter

_Auction: Mother_

 _Astrology: Narcissa Malfoy_

 _Character Appreciation: family_

 _Disney, Mother's Intuition: Write about a mother_

 _Amber's Attic: quote below_

 _Days, World Health Day: Write about a Healer_

 _Word Count: 424_

* * *

" _We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe."_

 _-Andrea Gibson_

* * *

There is only pain and darkness. Narcissa thinks she might be screaming, but she isn't sure. All she knows is her body is being ripped apart, and the world around her seems to be fading to black.

This is how she dies, she realizes. She had hoped for old age, peacefully in her sleep. Instead, she is still so young with so much life left unlived. Killed by childbirth, by her own baby…

Her baby…

Is he okay? Has he made it?

Even as pain burns through her body, what's left of her mind turns to her son. It seems cruel that the child she has grown to love more than anything else in this world would be the one to kill her. Maybe she laughs. Maybe she screams. She isn't sure about anything anymore.

"Cissy. Stay with me, Cissy."

The voice drifts through her consciousness. Narcissa tries to cling to it, but it seems to slip through her fingers. She is falling deeper and deeper into darkness. Voices swim through her head. Something cold is pressed to her lips.

Dark. So dark. So cold.

She shudders, her eyes wide as she bolts upright, gasping for breath.

"Cissy," Lucius sighs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We thought we lost you."

"My baby?" Her voice is raw and raspy, and the effort stings her throat. She is sure she should rest it, but panic grips her. Where is her baby. "Can I see him?"

At first, there is no answer. She notices the midwife exchanging an uncertain glance with her assistant.

The room suddenly becomes devoid of air. At least, it must because she suddenly cannot breathe.

"Draco!" She winces as her voice raises, but it doesn't stop her. "Let me see him! What's wrong? Answer me!"

"Calm down, Narcissa," Lucius whispers, brushing his fingers through her sweat saturated hair.

Finally, the silence is broken by a baby's a cry. _Her_ baby. Her sweet Draco.

"Here we are," the Healer says, making her way closer. The tiny infant in her arms squirms and fusses. "Such a good boy. A fighter just like Mummy, huh?" She offers Narcissa a bright smile. "We thought we lost both of you. But not on my watch, no ma'am."

Narcissa nods absently as she takes her son from the other woman. It amazes her how something so small and fragile can be so strong.

Again, she forgets how to breathe, but now it's for the best possible reason.


	39. Let Me Be Yours

_Assignment 9, Sex Ed, task 1: Write about someone faced with the possibility of sex for the first time._

 _Auction: Skiving Snackbox pack- pumpkin juice_

 _Book Club: darkness, meadow, "I dreamed a strange dream."_

 _Word Count: 1349_

 _Note: this is more on the M-rated side_

* * *

Druella does not care that it is past midnight, that it is now, technically, what everyone continue to call her _big day_. She ought to be sleeping, trying to make sure her mind is sharp and her face is rejuvenated when she wakes tomorrow. After all, marrying a Black comes with so many expectations, and she can already feel the pressure mounting, threatening to snap her in half.

Instead, she is barefoot in the meadow behind her father's manor, guided by the soft glow of the stars above. This is most improper, but she's never truly cared for all the rules of Pureblood society. By this time tomorrow, she will be married to Cygnus Black, a man who wants nothing more than to tame her, who sees her as a prize he's won. She will no longer be able to carry on like this, and so she will do what she can with what little freedom she has left.

"Good girls don't go wandering out so late at night." The voice comes through, soft and amused, through darkness. Druella feels her heart flutter restlessly within her chest, and a smile tugs at her lips as Abraxas steps out of the shadows.

Sometimes she forgets exactly how glorious he is, all pale skin and long legs. His thin fingers push through his blond hair—disheveled, she assumes, from trying to sleep when her letter arrived—and offers her a brilliant grin. "Then again," he muses, crossing the short distance between them and wrapping an arm around her, his fingers splayed against the small of her back, "you've never been a good girl, have you, Dru?"

She shivers at his touch, trying to ignore the eruption of butterflies that seem to tickle her insides. The smallest of smiles tug at her plump lips. "You always preferred me that way," she reminds him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Abraxas swallows dryly before dropping his hand and looking away. She should have expected it. After all, he is still bitter that her father accepted Cygnus' offer of marriage before Abraxas had a chance to fight for her hand.

"I dreamed a strange dream," she says. The flutter in her body intensifies, coupled with a strange heat that floods through every inch of her skin and stains her creamy cheeks a dusty pink. "It was my wedding night. Time to consummate the marriage. But it was not Cygnus who laid me down and lifted my dress."

Druella takes a deep breath. Though Abraxas does not speak, she sees his white-blond brows raise curiously. Biting the inside of her cheek, she presses her body against his. There is a feeling she cannot explain, but she imagines it's what it feels like to be struck by lightning, and she gasps but does not pull away.

"It was you," she continues, her voice stronger now. "You climbed on top of me. I could feel you, Abraxas. I called your name when I woke."

He is stoic, his expression unreadable. If not for the slight hitch in his breath, Druella might think he doesn't care at all. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales deeply. "You are not mine," he reminds her, the sadness in his voice so heavy that she can almost feel it washing over her.

"I am more yours than I will ever be his." She does not say it with malevolence. It is merely a fact; Cygnus will never love or respect her the way Abraxas does. Once the wedding is over and she has taken his name, she may belong to him, but her heart never will.

Abraxas rests his hand gently against her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. The touch sends a chill down her spine, and bites her lip to keep from moaning. "Dru," he whispers, ghosting his fingertips lightly down her jaw and over her neck before resting on her shoulder.

"You know of Cygnus' conquests," she says. "You know how he sees women. He'll have me the same way he would have a common whore. I don't—"

She sucks in a deep breath, but it does nothing to ease her mind. Why is this so difficult? Hasn't she spent the past three years longing for more than just stolen kisses and little touches? How many nights has she wondered what it would feel like to have his body on top of hers, to have him inside of her as his lips kissed a trail over her body?

Those dreams are within reach now. She could have Abraxas Malfoy as she's always wanted him.

But the words seem to stick in her throat. It could be a reality, but something seems to hold her back.

"I want to know what it feels like to be…" She trails off, her cheeks burning so deeply she fears her skin will melt away. "I don't want my first time to be with someone like Cygnus. A brute… I want to know that I am loved."

Abraxas softens. His fingers brush through her silvery blonde locks. "My beautiful Druella, you will always be loved," he assures her, pressing a kiss to her nose. "I will always love you."

"Then let me be yours," she whispers. "If only for tonight, let me yours."

All hesitation and restraint seems to fade away. His lips meet hers, and it's a kiss unlike any that they've shared before. Though it is still gentle, there's a passion to it she's never experienced. She can taste the desire on his tongue as it grazes against hers, and she relaxes. He wants this just as much as she does.

Without breaking the kiss, Abraxas guides her carefully to the ground. This isn't how she imagined things. In all her fantasies, it's always Abraxas, but she's assumed her first time would be in a bed, wrapped in a sea of fine satin sheets as he straddles her. Despite that, she can't complain. There's something exciting about feeling the grass tickle her neck. The scent of wildflowers adds to the atmosphere. Maybe this isn't what she dreamt of, but she realizes how perfect it is.

Abraxas pulls back, his lips finally moving away from hers. In all her dreams, he's always been like a wild beast, eager to have his way with her, rabid with lust and desire. Instead, he looks down at her, concern in his icy blue eyes. "Are you sure?" he whispers.

When she nods, the atmosphere seems to change. He pushes her nightgown up, tugging her underwear cool breeze caresses her newly exposed skin, and she shivers, half from the cold and half from delight. "Abraxas," she moans as his fingers trail over her hips, seeming to leave a line of flames in their wake.

He pulls back, fumbling with his trousers before finally managing to pull them down. "I love you," he whispers as he pushes himself inside her.

…

The next morning, as Druella sits at breakfast with her parents, she can't bring herself to eat. She presses her goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips, sipping. All she can think about is Abraxas. Even now, hours later, she can still feel his weight pressing against her slender body, can still feel herself stretching around him as she accepted every inch of him with shuddering breaths.

"It's normal to be nervous," her mother assures her, offering her a gentle smile. "I couldn't eat before my big day either."

"I'm not nervous," Druella says, setting her goblet aside.

Her mother gives her a look that says that she doesn't believe Druella. "Nerves, dear. All that is," she sighs.

Druella doesn't bother arguing. Her mother would never see reason. Besides, Druella cannot tell her the truth.

She is not nervous about marrying Cygnus. Though she is still bitter about it, he is barely on her mind at all. Before the night is over, she will belong to Cygnus, but in name alone. After her encounter in meadow, there is no doubt that she is and will always be Abraxas', and he will be hers.


	40. A New Start

_Auction: Iola Black_

 _Word Count: 504_

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Iola looks up from the sheets she's hanging on the line, and her heart seems to stop. The boy before her looks just like Phineas Nigellus with his dark hair, dark eyes, and arrogant smirk. If she didn't know any better, she'd wonder if her brother's past self managed to master time travel somehow. But no. There is a softness to him, a kindness in his eyes that her brother could never manage.

"Can I help you, love?" she asks. He has to be at least seventeen, but the poor little dear looks so lost and confused that Iola can't help but use the same tone she would for a skittish kitten.

The boy wrings his hands together, swallowing dryly. "I… I'm looking for Iola Black."

Hearing her old name sends a painful jolt down her spine. The sheet slips from her hands, landing on the dusty ground. The boy reaches down, picking it up. As he straightens up, his eyes meet hers, and she can see recognition over his handsome face.

"You're Iola Black," he guesses.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a long time," she says softly, accepting the sheet and shaking it off. Bits of dust fly in the wind. "Since before you were born, I'd wager."

"My name is Phineas," he says, bowing his head slightly with the introduction. "Phineas Black. Your… I suppose I'm your nephew."

Iola smiles at that. Of course her brother would name his son after himself. Her smile quickly fades, however, and her lips twist into a pained frown. She turns her back on him, stealthily summoning a pin with her wand. "Best be on, Phineas. I trust the family still frown on associating with people like me," she warns, clipping the sheet to the line. "I would hate for you to be disowned as well."

"I was already disowned."

Her heart breaks at his words. She turns again, holding her arms out to him. He flinches, and she swears softly under her breath. Of course. The Blacks never cared to show affection. "It's okay, dear boy. I only want to hug you."

Phineas hesitates. After several seconds, he steps forward, allowing Iola to embrace him.

"Aunt Elladora said you married a Muggle."

"I did. Would you like to meet him?"

Phineas' eyes are alight with excitement at that. He nods eagerly. "More than anything! I had Muggleborn friends at Hogwarts," he tells her proudly. "That's… I was disowned because my brother told my father that I'm a sympathizer."

Iola looks around. No Muggles are about who will notice. She waves her wand, muttering a quick spell so that the sheets will finish hanging themselves. Satisfied, she takes her nephew by the hand, smiling warmly. "Well, I assure you that your uncle will want to meet you."

Iola has longed for her family for so long. Maybe they aren't perfect, but she still loves him. Now, she feels as though the world has granted her a chance for a new start.


	41. A Fate Accepted

_Hogwarts, Assignment 9_

 _Religious Education, task 4: Write about someone concentrating on a task_

 _Disney, Pumbaa: Write about someone who feels like an outcast_

 _Shannon's Showcase, Italy: bubble, candle_

 _Showtime, A Heart Full of Love: shame_

 _Word Count: 850_

* * *

Cassiopeia sits up in bed, head tilting curiously to the side. She's certain she had heard a sound, but the manor is quiet as a tomb now. With a shrug, she pushes her slender fingers through her chestnut hair, wincing when they catch on tangles.

In the distance, she hears a frustrated groan; there's no denying it this time.

As quietly as possible, she slides out of bed, the wooden floor cold against her bare feet. She takes the candle from her bedside table and lights it. The light is dim, but it will have to do.

She knows she ought to go back to bed. Proper ladies do not go running into trouble, and Cassiopeia has always prided herself on being the epitome of proper. Now, however, she doesn't particularly care. Her curiosity has gotten the best of her, and her feet seem to carry her forward against her better judgement.

Cassiopeia follows the sound along the hallway, coming to a stop outside her youngest brother's door. Sure enough, she hears Marius' soft voice uttering a string of words so vile that even a Mudblood would blush. Part of her wants to call it a night and return to bed, but her curiosity continues to burn. With a shrug, she pushes the door open.

Marius is sitting on the floor, his gaze quickly moving from the feather before him to the door at Cassiopeia's intrusion. Even in the dim glow of the candlelight, she can see his pale cheeks glowing scarlet. "Cassi!" he groans, shaking his head. His dark curls whip against his face. "Don't scare me like that!"

"What are you doing?" she asks curiously, sitting beside him.

"Trying to focus," he mutters, the annoyance clear in his clipped tone.

Cassiopeia doesn't have to ask. With Marius' eleventh birthday swiftly approaching, everyone has been worried about his lack of magical ability. Their father can barely even look at Marius, and Pollux's bullying has escalated from silly taunts to physically hurting the younger boy.

"It's going to happen," she tells him.

His dark eyes narrow, and a scowl pulls at his thin lips. "Easy for you to say. You've got magic. Even Dorea has it, and she's six!" He folds his arms over his chest, huffing. "Father already hates me."

She doesn't bother to tell him he's wrong; it would be too cruel of a lie. Instead, she wraps an arm around him, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. Blacks aren't supposed to show affection, but Marius is too precious. She wants nothing more than for him to be happy.

After a few moments, he pulls out of her arms, drawing his knees to his chest. Cassiopeia has never seen anyone look so serious before. Marius purses his lips together, and his eyes bulge slightly. Under different circumstances, it might be funny. Now, however, it's a painful reminder that her brother's time in the family is limited, that he'll be blasted off the tapestry and never mentioned again.

"Please," Marius whispers desperately, tears in his eyes. The feather remains perfectly still, but Marius doesn't look away.

If only sheer stubbornness and determination alone could make things happen. Marius has spent months in a frenzy, focusing every ounce of his concentration on manifesting his magic. It hardly seems fair. Cassiopeia barely even remembers her first display of magic; she had been seven, and she had manifested bubbles with childish glee. Why would it come so easily to her and the rest of her siblings while Marius struggles to no avail?

"It's no use," he sighs, an air of finality in his defeated tone. He slumps forward, wiping away tears and sniffling. "Will you still love me when they've thrown me on the street?"

Cassiopeia wants to tell she will. It should be easy enough since he is her brother, and family should mean everything. Instead, her words seem to fail her. Shame ties her stomach into painful knots, and she feels acid snake its way up her throat. "Marius…"

She reaches out for him, but he pulls away, shaking his head. "Don't," he says sharply, climbing to his feet and pulling her up with surprising strength. "You should go to bed."

"Mari, please—"

"I would hate for your reputation to be tarnished by the company of a Squib," he interrupts, snatching the candle from its resting place on the floor and thrusting it into her hands. "Goodnight."

Before she can protest, he guides her into the hallway and shuts the door in her face. Cassiopeia stares at the knob, tempted to turn it again, to force her way back into his life.

She doesn't. In the end, she knows there's no point. There's no use hoping and wishing; Marius is a Squib, and nothing can change that. Trying to cling to him now will only make it harder when their father sends him away.

Knowing this doesn't stop her heart from breaking as she walks away. And, when she finally lays down in bed again, she can't help the tears that fall as she thinks of her precious brother.


	42. Madness Unseen

_Assignment 9, Astronomy, task 1: Write about something invisible_

 _Character Appreciation: last_

 _Shannon's Showcase, Ukraine: fear, piano_

 _Showtime, The Bishop: silver_

 _Buttons: parchment, extra_

 _Ami's Audio, Oscar: Write about someone being burned at the stake_

 _Warning: murder, insanity, and some batshit crazy Black family fuckery_

 _Word Count: 2480_

* * *

I.

Phineas wonders if Bopsy will be kind enough to let him have a sweet or two before dinner. A toothy grin tugs at his thin lips as he walks carefully down the hall, keeping an eye out for his parents who might scold him. A sudden scuffle causes him to freeze. He hears the distinct sound of a piano being struck, followed by a pitiful, barely audible cry.

Abandoning his quest for a snack, the ten year old follows the sound, his pace quickening until he can feel a burning strain in his legs. When he reaches the music room, he skids to a stop, his insides seeming to freeze in horror. A piano wire dangles from the inside of the large instrument, and it's wrapped around Iola's throat. The four year old sputters and desperately tries to pull the wire away, but her tiny fingers cannot grasp it.

Most chilling of all, however, is Elladora, standing there, watching with detached curiosity as their sister's face darkens to an awful shade of purple. "Are you sure, Sophie?" she asks. "She looks uncomfortable."

Phineas doesn't know who she's talking to, but he doesn't care. He hurries forward, shoving Elladora out of his way. The seven year old crashes unceremoniously to the floor, shrieking. Phineas ignores her and makes quick work of unwrapping the piano wire from Iola's neck.

"Don't!" Elladora wails. "You can't! Sophie won't like it!"

Iola gasps weakly when Phineas frees her. She slumps forward, slack and pitiful as a ragdoll.

"Bopsy!" he screams.

With a _crack_ the house-elf appears. "Master Phineas has called for Bop—" Her words are interrupted by a gasp when she notices Iola trembling at Phineas' feet. "What is happening to Mistress Iola?"

Phineas wonders if he can explain, if he should. What would happen to Elladora if he told the truth? But the angry red cuts in his baby sister's neck and the nasty purple and blue bruises that bloom from her pale skin make him want to talk.

He shakes his head, trying to convince himself it's just an accident. "Nothing. A misunderstanding," he says sharply, his stern tone a way to remind the creature to remember her place in the household. "Tend to her, and you are not to speak a word of this to anyone, not even Father and Mother. Is that understood? I will handle them."

Bopsy bows, her oversized ears twitching slightly as she straightens her posture. "Yes, Master Phineas," she says before scooping Iola carefully into her arms.

His eyes flicker back to Elladora. His younger sister tugs at her dark curls, shaking her head. "No, Sophie," she says. "We can't kill him yet." The bell-like giggle that escapes her lips contradict the darkness in her eyes.

…

He tells himself that he's putting too much thought into it. Loads of children have invisible friends; he still remembers spending hours in the attic with Orion, protecting an imaginary kingdom from invading Muggles.

But Orion never asked Phineas to kill, not really.

Phineas can almost believe that Elladora still hasn't recovered from their brother's death, that losing Sirius has left her fragile and vulnerable. This Sophie character is just a way to cope and lash out without consequence.

It will go away eventually. He just knows it.

II.

Twelve year old Phineas notices the smoke outside and frowns. As far as he knows, there shouldn't be anything burning. He and Iola had begged their father to let them have a small bonfire, but the patriarch had refused, calling the practice common and vulgar.

He abandons his homework—just because he's home on winter holiday doesn't mean there isn't work to do—and makes his way to the window, pushing his dark hair out his eyes. Elladora stands over what looks like a pyre, the flames casting shadows on her pale face. Even from the distance, Phineas can see the chilling smile on his sister's plump lips, and he feels a knot form in his stomach. Almost reluctantly, he forces his attention to the bundle of sticks. What he sees causes him to double over, dry heaving. Elladora hasn't taken it upon herself to build her own bonfire; Bopsy is bound to the post in the center of the small inferno, her golden brown skin bubbling and charring.

Phineas forces himself to act. He sprints through the manor, ignoring his father who calls out that Phineas is far too wild, too restless.

"Elladora!" he screams when he gets outside, his bare feet sinking into the thick blanket of snow.

His sister looks up as the house-elf gives one final scream. "Sophie doesn't like Bopsy," she says sweetly. "She had to go."

Phineas removes his shirt in a haste; the buttons fly in every direction, peppering the white ground with silver. He smothers the flames as best he can until all that's left are glowing embers.

Bopsy is gone. Maybe she had been just a servant, a creature so far beneath him, but Phineas had come to care for her in the end.

His dark eyes turn Elladora who just looks to the side, smiling at something he can't see—Sophie, he assumes. "What have you done, Elladora?"

In place of an answer, the nine year old giggles.

…

"This is not some harmless thing, Father," Phineas says, wringing his hands together anxiously. "Bopsy is—"

"A house-elf," his father interrupts without taking his eyes off whatever important document he's reading. "Easily replaced. Hardly a tragedy, boy."

Phineas scowls. It isn't as though he's completely torn up over Bopsy's death. However much he had liked her, his father is right. There will be more house-elves to serve his family. But what frightens him is how unapologetic Elladora is, how quickly she clings to some invisible thing. She is too old for imaginary friends, but her father seems content with letting her blame her actions on this Sophie fantasy.

"And what of Iola?" Phineas demands. "Have you seen the way she looks at Elladora after the piano wire incident? She's still terrified!"

His father looks up now, his eyes narrowed angrily and his jaw tense. He slams his fist down against the polished mahogany desk, causing the parchment scattered across the surface to lift a few inches from the force. "And what do you propose I do about it, hmm? Tell me, if you were in my shoes, what would you do, boy?"

Phineas opens his mouth before snapping it shut. It's the very reason he's avoided saying anything at all to his father. He doesn't know what to do, assuming anything can be done at all.

"That's what I thought." His father's posture relaxes ever so slightly, but his hardened gaze continues to bore into Phineas. "You will be the head of your family one day, Phineas Nigellus. I would suggest you not try to rush that day."

"Understood, Father," he mutters.

III.

His fear doesn't ease when Elladora begins attending Hogwarts. He had hoped being able to keep an eye on her would help, but it seems to make things worse. It feels as though he's forever walking on eggshells, waiting for her to turn her head and whisper to her invisible companion before all hell breaks loose.

It finally happens in February.

He's on his way back from a walk around the lake when he hears laughter. Ordinarily, such a sound wouldn't be terribly unusual, but this particular laugh tends to haunt his dreams. "Elladora," Phineas grumbles, following the noise.

"She looks so silly, doesn't she, Sophie?" Elladora giggles. "Do you think she can breathe?"

Phineas doesn't recognize the girl who has become tangled in the Devil's Snare, but he doesn't care. He sprints forward, ignoring Elladora as she screams abuse and threats at him.

"Stop it! You'll ruin everything!" his sister shrieks.

He doesn't stop. With a wave of his wand, he mutters the incantation, and flames pour from his wand. The wicked vine shrinks away, freeing the girl Phineas now recognizes as Felicity Abbott.

The Hufflepuff looks between the two of them, her blue eyes wide with panic. She shakes her head weakly, seemingly exhausted from the encounter with the strangling plant. "Please…"

"She's going to tell," Elladora says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "She's going to get us in trouble."

"Us?" Phineas wonders if she means him, Sophie, or both. When he glances up, he sees his sister looking to the side again, chattering rapidly and inaudibly with her invisible companion.

"She's… She's mad!" Felicity manages, her voice raspy.

"I'm afraid so."

There's no denying it now. His sister isn't just using this imaginary friend to cope. It's almost like Sophie has become an extension of herself.

"Please don't tell," Phineas adds hopefully.

Felicity pulls herself to her feet, dusting herself off. Without answering Phineas' request, she rushes off, nearly tripping in her haste.

"Should have let me kill her," Elladora sighs. She reaches out, seeming to hold some unseen hand before walking away as though nothing has happened. "I know. He ruins everything. Don't worry, thought; we can take care of that."

…

Felicity Abbott talks, but she must not tell anyone the whole story. Soon, the corridors are alive with whispers about how Elladora Black is mad, about how it's hardly surprising. They say the whole Black family should be locked away and never seen again.

Phineas wants to have pride in his family, but what if the idle gossip is right? What if it's only a matter of time before his family's minds collectively break, and they all become just as mad as Elladora?

IV.

Phineas knows he ought not concern himself with news of the Muggle world, but that name catches his attention.

 _Iola Hitchens._

"What happened?" he asks, sipping his wine.

The barmaid, Naomi, looks around, ensuring she has a proper audience. With a wave of her wand, she summons refills for all the patrons. "Not sure if you'd like to hear it, Phineas," she tells him, but the grin that plays at her painted red lips says that she's excited to be able to enlighten him and the rest of the pub.

Phineas swallows dryly, wondering what she could mean by that. After all, it's hardly news to anyone that Iola has disgraced the family by marrying the Muggle Bob Hitchens.

"Way I hear it, Iola was meant to be in town, running errands. Muggles are primitive, so it's quite a time consuming thing since she can't use magic," Naomi says, waving a dismissive hand. "Supposed to be out all day, yeah? Except she forgets something, so she turns around."

Phineas yawns. He doesn't know why Naomi seems to think this seems to be so scandalous. Part of him is tempted to leave the pub and go home; this hardly concerns him. And yet, he seems stuck to his seat, curiosity getting the best of him. It has been over a decade since his family has had any drama greater than Iola's betrayal.

"Gets back, and her house is burned to the ground. Her husband too. But the damnedest thing is that she swore up and down her sister did it. Sound like Elladora to you, Phineas?"

Without answering, he forces himself to his feet and hurries away.

…

"Why would I burn her house down?" Elladora asks, scowling. "That filthy traitor is hardly worth the effort."

Phineas nods. Even if her words sound a bit too hollow, he still wants to believe her; he forces himself to believe her. He can almost convince himself that she doesn't look to her left and offer the empty space a triumphant smile.

V.

"Are you sure you trust her?" Ursula asks as their house-elf works quickly to pull her braided blonde hair into an elegant knot. "I know she's your sister, but she's a bit…"

Phineas is grateful when she lets the sentence dangle. He knows the world still sees Elladora as a madwoman, and that her years of silence have not convinced anyone otherwise.

"I assumed you would be grateful for the extra help," he says. "You said last time that raising a child is exhausting."

His wife purses her lips but shrugs. "So be it. Would you be a dear and check on her and Phineas? Better safe than sorry."

Phineas resists the urge to roll his eyes and tell her that she worries too much. By now, he's well aware of when a battle isn't worth fighting. Instead, he presses a quick, chaste kiss to her neck. "As you wish, my love."

He doesn't expect it to take more than a minute or two. His long legs carry him quickly down the hall and to the nursery. A faint smile tugs at his lips when he hears his sister's voice on the other side of the door. Elladora has had her problems in the past, but he really thinks that her love for her family has helped her to recover.

"He's so tiny, Sophie," he hears his sister giggle. "Does he have enough blood?"

Phineas wastes no time. He bursts through the door, wand raised and ready. Elladora stands over baby Phineas' crib, smiling serenely at her nephew. It would almost be a heartwarming scene if not for the silver knife she dangles menacingly above the newborn.

" _Stupefy!"_ he screams.

…

He stares at his sister, unable to understand. She looks so normal. How is it possible for her to have some bizarre, twisted darkness inside her head that drives her to hurt and kill?

In the end, Elladora had explained, quite calmly, that she wanted to sacrifice her newborn nephew and somehow exchange his soul to make Sophie real.

She ought to be locked away. Over the years, she has only gotten worse; he has simply chosen to be ignorant, to pretend not to see. If she remains free, she will continue with her bloodlust, blaming her invisible friend, never accepting that it's a manifestation of her madness.

But he cannot bring himself to do it. His mind wanders back to his conversation with his father all those years ago.

 _Tell me, if you were in my shoes, what would you do, boy?_

He had thought it would be an easy answer: lock his sister away so that she cannot harm anyone else.

Now, he understands why his father could never send her away. Mad or not, Elladora is still family. She still carries the Black name, and her fate can tarnish the family's reputation forever.

"What shall be done with her?" Ursula asks, holding their newborn son to her chest.

Phineas sighs and shakes his head, mentally exhausted. "The only thing we can do," he says as his sister fixes him with a murderous glare. "Let her go and hope."

Deep down, he knows it's only a matter of time before Sophie whispers his name in Elladora's ear.


	43. A Good Wife

_Assignment 9, Sex Ed, Extra Credit, task 5: Write about someone pregnant who needs to decide whether or not to keep the baby._

* * *

The blue tendrils of light wrap around her stomach. Magenta swallows dryly, shaking her head at the confirmation. She is with child; there is no denying it now.

She should be happy. As a woman, it's her duty to provide heirs for her husband. Since her first child was a girl, Magenta's job is not yet done. If she doesn't keep trying, why is she even here?

Besides, she's always wanted children of her own. Her beloved Misapinoa will be happy with a baby brother or sister to play with.

And yet there is little excitement to be found. Magenta has spent years trying to convince herself that Licorus will learn to love her one day. Maybe she still clings to that hope, but she is no longer naive. Only a fool would continue to believe his excuses about working long past midnight. His heart was never hers to keep, and it never will be.

He doesn't love her. Why should he care about heirs at all? Licorus barely even spares their daughter a glance.

Swallowing dryly, Magenta rests her slender, trembling hands on her stomach. A baby is growing inside her body, and she doesn't know if she wants to let it continue.

She has heard rumors of powders and potions sold in Knockturn Alley that could fix things it she needed. Sometimes, wives are just as unfaithful as husbands, and there are ways to take care of the accidents that result from such escapades.

But that is not the case here. The child within her body is her husband's. Why should it be punished just because Licorus does not love her?

Warm tears streak her pale face, and she quickly wipes them away frenzied, furious swipes of her palms. Now is not the time to break down. She has an important decision to make, and she'll need her wits about.

Magenta pushes her chestnut brown hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath. She knows what she has to do.

…

"Wine?" Licorus asks, lifting a dark eyebrow curiously. "What's the occasion?"

Magenta plasters on the brightest smile she can manage as she pours her husband a generous serving of red wine. By now, she has learned that Licorus is always miserable in her company, but alcohol makes him at least somewhat happier.

"I have wonderful news, my love," she tells him as he takes a deep drink from his glass. "We… I am with child."

The apathy in his eyes cuts deep. "Excellent," he says dryly, but there's no emotion in his words at all. He may as well be commenting on the weather.

Magenta feels tears sting her eyes, and she quickly wipes them away before they can fall. She cannot be weak in front of him, no matter how much her heart is breaking.

Down the hall, Misapinoa lets out a loud, panicked wail. Licorus waves a dismissive hand and mutters, "Well, tend to her."

As she makes her way to her two year old's room, she feels the tears escape. Now, she lets them fall freely. Licorus is not here to judge her.

Perhaps bringing another child into this world is cruel. This child will never know a father's love. He will only know apathy and cold neglect.

But, in the end, Magenta knows that her duty is more important than her own happiness. Even if Licorus is not a good husband, she will always be a good wife.


	44. Unsolicited Advice

_Character Appreciation: aunt &niece _

_Word Count:532_

* * *

Narcissa stands before the mirror, taking a deep breath. Her slender fingers brush over the fine white silk that clings to the subtle curves of her body. There's no denying how beautiful she looks; she only wishes she could stop trembling.

Everything will be okay. It's only Lucius. Even if she doesn't love him and probably never will, she is doing her duty as a good daughter. Marrying him is the right thing to do.

So why does she feel so nervous?

As smooths down a rogue hair that's out of place, there's a knock at the door. Narcissa groans. As much as she loves her mother, the woman's continuous fretting and fussing has only added to Narcissa's anxiety. Still, she doesn't want to be alone, so she calls out, "Come in!"

Instead of her mother, her aunt Walburga comes in, offering Narcissa a rare smile. Narcissa has only ever seen the woman look displeased. Seeing such a change in her demeanor is almost unnerving.

"Look at you," Aunt Walburga says, approaching Narcissa. Her grin broadens. "You look so much like Druella."

A soft pink creeps into her cheeks. For so long, being told that she looks like a Rosier had felt so much like an insult. Now, hearing Aunt Walburga say it makes it feel like an honor. Narcissa straightens her posture, throwing her shoulders back with confidence.

"Your parents must be so proud," Aunt Walburga continues. "Merlin knows I am!"

"Thank you, Aunt Walburga."

Narcissa feels uncomfortable now. She shifts and squirms slightly, adjusting the neck of her gown. While the company is nice, she has never been particularly close to her aunt, and it feels awkward to have the older woman watching her every move as she finishes her last minute touches.

"I had such high hopes for Sirius, you see," Aunt Walburga tells her. "Should have known better, but I tried. No mother wants to believe her child is capable of such things."

"Mhm…" Narcissa isn't sure where this is going, but she doesn't know what else to say.

"You, on the other hand… You were trouble before you even came out of the womb. I told Druella a potion could take care of that, but she was determined to keep you."

Narcissa forces herself to keep a smile on her face, even though the words sting. "I'm glad she did."

"Fair enough. Sicky child." Her aunt shakes her head. "So much trouble. But look at you now. Such a good girl, saving your family's reputation after your sister's mistake."

Narcissa begins to answer, but she's spared by her mother's return to the room. "Walburga, dear, Orion was just looking for you," she says. "Cissa, come. It's nearly time."

Narcissa is grateful for an excuse to get away. As she starts out, however, Aunt Walburga catches her wrist.

"Remember, girl, even if you become a Malfoy, you will always be a Black. You carry our family's name on your shoulders."

"I understand."

Maybe it should feel like an honor to carry such an ancient and noble name, but the way her aunt says it makes it feel like a burden.

She only hopes she can carry it.


	45. Call It Home

_Women's History, task 3: Write about a magical charitable organization._

 _Character Appreciation: "I don't know how you stand it."_

 _Showtime, Master of the House: chaperone_

 _Word Count: 1263_

 _A big thank you to Liza who had the idea of Dorea opening a home for abandoned Squibs!_

* * *

Dorea is in the process of tidying up the Potter summer home—though _mansion_ is a more accurate word for the place—when the idea hits. The summer home is unoccupied for most of the year; even their summer trips tend to be few and far between. Each year, she spends a few days casting household spells to clean everything, only for it to collect dust and grow stale from extended disuse.

A grin tugs at her full lips, and she squeals, breaking her concentration on the spell. The mop clatters noisily to the floor, but she doesn't bother with it. Excitement pulses through her veins as she hurries to the fireplace. She grabs a pinch of Floo Powder, tossing it in as she steps inside and calls out her home address.

"Everything okay, Dorea?" Charlus asks, concern heavy in his voice as his hazel eyes peer up from over the newspaper.

"Okay? Everything is perfect! I've just had the most marvelous idea."

Her husband's dark brows raise. He folds the _Daily Prophet_ neatly and sets it aside before gesturing for her to continue.

"How would you feel about using our summer home to sort of…" She trails off, wringing her hands together anxiously. It makes perfect sense in her head, but trying to vocalize her idea makes her second guess herself. "We so rarely use it, so what if we did something with it?"

"Something?" Charlus echoes curiously, pushing his fingers through his sleek dark hair. "Such as?"

"I want to make it into a home for abandoned Squibs."

…

Marius lets out an impressed whistle. "This is yours?" he asks. "It's bigger than where we grew up."

"It's Charlus'," Dorea explains. "His uncle left it to him."

Her brother shrugs and tips his head to the side. Without a word, he moves along the stone path that leads to the spacious, lush, green front yard. The breeze whips his black curls wildly about his head.

"Will it work?" Dorea has to sprint in order to get her short legs to match his pace.

Marius looks at her, his stormy grey eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. "It's a home. I could only _dream_ of something this nice," he assures her, offering her a bright, toothy grin.

Dorea feels her stomach twist into a knot of guilt. After reconnecting with Marius over a decade after their father had thrown him out, her older brother had told her all sorts of horror stories from his life on the streets. She shudders, thinking about her poor, dirty, starving brother rummaging through the bins, hoping to find something halfway edible. If the Murrays hadn't found him and taken him in, she isn't sure what would have happened to him.

How many other Squibs are out there, suffering the way Marius had? Even if the attitudes toward Squibs have changed slightly over the past sixteen years, there are far too many traditional families who look down on anyone without magic.

"I don't know how you stand it," she says quietly, sliding her hand into her brother's and squeezing it tightly. "The world is so cruel to people like you."

Marius exhales deeply, scrubbing his free hand over the back of his neck. "I have to remind myself that there are good people in the world," he explains. "Like Thomas and Josephine. And you."

Silence hangs between them for several moments. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dorea tugs on his hand, guiding him forward. "Come on. I'll show you around."

…

Once the tour is over, Dorea and Marius sit outside in the garden. Dorea leans back, breathing in the floral air with a smile. "Well?"

"What do you plan do actually do here? Just giving people a place to live isn't enough."

"Help them transition into the Muggle world, teach them the skills they'll need, and so forth," she answers.

Her brother's thin lips quirk into an amused smile. "Teach them _skills_?" he echoes. "Remember when you set my stove on fire while trying to cook? How on earth are _you_ going to teach them how to function without magic?"

"I'm not," she admits. "I was hoping you could be a chaperone or a mentor. You know what the Muggle world is like, Mari. You could help them more than I could."

For a moment, he doesn't answer. He stretches his long legs out, digging his heels into the ground slightly. Finally, a chuckle escapes his lips. "So, you didn't actually want my opinion," he ventures. "You wanted to recruit me."

Dorea offers him a sheepish grin. It hadn't actually been her intention; Marius' opinion really does mean more to her than anything else. Still, it makes sense. She has tried to be part of his world, and it's nice, but she's often reminded of how different she and Marius are. Dorea could spend years trying to learn everything she needs, and she still wouldn't be able to relate to the Squib children the way her brother could.

"I have the restaurant to run," he says, tapping a slender finger against his chin as he ponders, "but I'm sure Josephine would work with me if she knew what I was up to."

Dorea grins. "Is that a yes?"

He reaches out and ruffles her chocolate brown hair. "Anything for you, little sister."

…

It takes nearly a month to set everything up. Slowly, the summer home becomes more than just a lovely retreat to escape to on occasion; it is a sanctuary, a safe place for people like her beloved brother.

"What do you think?" Dorea asks, gesturing at the sign Charlus has hung over the ornate iron gate that opens onto the stone path.

Marius rests a hand over his heart, his bottom lip quivering. "'Marius Manor'," he reads, wiping a tear from his eye. "Dor, it's perfect."

She wraps an arm around him, grinning. "Anything for you, big brother."

…

Soon after Marius Manor opens, word begins to spread. Some look at Dorea with distrust in their eyes; they say she is doing too much too fast, that the world isn't ready for such strides. Others stop her on the street and thank her. She's told story after story about friends or relatives who had been Squibs and who could have benefited from someone like Dorea. Though it's rare, there are even a few who offer her gold to cover any expenses she may need.

…

"Mrs. Dorea!" Loyola Parkinson grins when Dorea enters the recreational area. "Mr. Marius said he's going to find a piano tutor! He said I can learn!"

Dorea beams at the thirteen year old. "That sounds perfect! You're going to be the best pianist since, er… Moptart."

"Mozart," Loyola corrects with a playful roll of her golden honey eyes, before hurrying off.

Dorea looks around, smiling to herself. It's been nearly a year since the home opened, and they've found four abandoned Squib children since. It still amazes her how much they've grown during their time at Marius Manor. She had known she would make a difference in the world, but she hadn't expected it to touch her like this.

Marius appears at her side, nudging her gently in the arm with his elbow. "We did good," he says.

Dorea nods. How many of these children wouldn't have survived without their intervention? How many more are still struggling, waiting to be found?

As though he can read her mind, her brother pulls her into a hug. "We're doing everything we can," he assures her.

Dorea only hopes it's enough.


	46. Run Away

_Prompts at the end._

 _Word Count: 840_

Cedrella smiles down at the completed cake, pleased with how neat the white icing looks. She can still remember her life before Septimus. The idea of a Black willingly in a kitchen, cooking or baking, had been laughable. Now, over the past few years, she has come to truly enjoy it.

Still excited about her success, she waves her wand, casting a light freezing spell to keep the cake cold. The last thing she needs is for her hard work to be ruined by the summer heat.

She's about to begin dinner—a lovely onion soup she's been dying to try her hand at—when someone knocks at the door. It's a soft, almost hesitant sound, like whoever is knocking doesn't know if they actually want to come in or not.

Cedrella abandons her domestic duties and makes her way to the door, opening it. Charis stands before her, shivering and shaking. Cedrella swallows dryly. It has been three years since she's seen her sister, but there is more than just shock there. She has never seen Charis look so frightened, so vulnerable.

Her sister offers her a small, apologetic smile. "Walk with me?"

Cedrella has the feeling she shouldn't. After being blasted from the tapestry, she is no longer a Black. The rest of her family has made sure to keep their distance, as though her open mind is some deadly disease that might be catching. And yet she has never been able to say no to Charis, and this is no exception. She nods, stepping outside.

A gentle breeze caresses her face, whipping her dirty blonde hair about. "It looks like rain," she notes, nodding towards the cloudy sky; there are storm clouds in the distance, but she assumes they will have enough time to catch up before the storm arrives.

"Sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it," Charis says, seeming to have no interest in small talk.

Cedrella swallows dryly. Tears threaten to prickle her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away. For years, she has dreamed of making amends with her sister; she never imagined it would become a reality.

"I should have gotten in touch with you."

"I forgive you," Cedrella assures her, reaching out for her sister.

Charis flinches away, her breath hitching. She laughs, but it's such a shaky, pitiful sound. "Sorry. I… I…"

Even though Charis trails off, she doesn't have to finish that sentence. Cedrella can guess. There aren't many things in this world that can break her sister down, render her into a meek, frightened thing. "Caspar hurts you, doesn't he?" she guesses as the walk past the tall, majestic sunflowers. She keeps her attention fixed upon the buzzing bees weaving in and out of her garden. If she looks at her sister and has to see the hurt in her eyes, she might murder Caspar Crouch.

"He… He doesn't mean—" Her sentence is interrupted by a pained sob. Cedrella springs into action, holding her sister close, gently stroking Charis' curls. "I want to escape, Drell. Every night, I pray an angel will come down and cut off his hands so he won't hurt anyone."

Cedrella holds her tighter until there is no space left between them. It doesn't matter how much time has past, how much tension has built between them. She will forever be loyal to her beloved sister, and her heart will always be open.

"It started the winter after we were married," Charis whispers, pulling away and wiping her eyes with a sniffle. "I thought things would get better. It… It should have gotten better."

Cedrella has never been a violent person, and she has always been slow to anger, but she feels her blood boil now. "I would fight with every bone in my body if it meant I could protect you." She takes Charis by the hands. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

"I just want my freedom," Charis whispers. "But it's impossible. I…" She drops her hands to her stomach, another sob spilling from her lips. "I'm pregnant with his child. I cannot escape."

"Charis, it's important that you get out _now_. Think of your child…"

"Kinder for me to suffer than to let my child live as a bastard," Charis whispers.

Now, the tears do fall from Cedrella's eyes. She was able to escape that toxic upbringing. Even if it took ages to unlearn the things her family taught her, she still left. Charis is still bound by expectations and traditions.

"I only wanted to see you again," Charis says, kissing Cedrella's cheek. "I don't… I don't know will happen with his temper. I needed—"

Whatever she needs, she doesn't say. Before Cedrella can even react, Charis sprints off. She has always been the fastest runner, and Cedrella cannot catch up. She stares off after her sister, her heart breaking.

She stands there, still watching the horizon as though Charis will come back. It's only when the rain hits that she forces herself back into the house.

* * *

 _Character Appreciation: loyal_

 _Disney, "In Summer': Write a fic set in the summer._

 _Book Club, Donatella: sisters, escape, "Every night, I pray an angel will come down and cut off his hands so he won't hurt anyone."_

 _Showtime, Step One: impossible_

 _Buttons: sunflowers_

 _Lyric Alley: With hearts wide open_

 _Hot Air Balloon: cloudy_

 _Days, Forgiveness Day: Write about forgiveness_

 _Summer: "Sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it."_

 _Birthstones, turquoise: "I would fight with every bone in my if it meant I could protect you."_

 _Flowers, sunflower: bee_

 _Film Festival: freedom_

 _Fairies: white, freeze, cold, winter_

 _Holmes: cake_


	47. The Guilty Ones

_Word Count: 470_

* * *

She wonders if the guilt will ever go away. Druella loves Abraxas, but it's so hard to enjoy their moments together knowing that she is deceiving Cygnus. It isn't fair. She does not love Cygnus, and she never will. Why is the world so cruel that is forced to marry a man she doesn't want while loving his best friend? Why does she have to feel guilty when she holds no attachment to Cygnus at all?

She and Abraxas walk through the garden of Malfoy Manor, hand in hand, enjoying the spring breeze that is perfumed by flowers. This is as close to public as they dare to be. She will forever be his secret, something to keep in the dark and hidden away. Love may be a powerful force, but it is nothing compared to protecting their families' reputations.

The stone path is still slick from an earlier shower, and there's a rainbow juxtaposed against the grey sky. It is far too pretty out for Druella to be in such a foul mood.

"What is it, my sweet?" Abraxas asks softly, pulling his hand away and caressing her cheek with gentle fingertips.

"I'm a fool," she answers. "Sometimes I want the world to stop spinning, even if it's just for a moment. I want… I want to be with you, to not have to think about this damn marriage, to not have to lie. Why do we have to hide?"

"It's because we have no other choice."

"He's your friend. If you asked, Cygnus might call off the marriage," says.

Even as she says it, she knows how hopeless it is. The man she is arranged to marry is not a nice man. He has always looked at Druella like she's a prize to be won.

With a heavy sigh, Abraxas comes to a stop at a copper painted bench. He takes a seat, pulling Druella onto his lap. "Don't be so sure about that," he says, his fingers pushing through her blonde hair. "Cygnus doesn't do anyone favors."

"I know."

Her slender fingers brush over his tie. It should be Abraxas she marries; she has already given herself to him. It only makes sense that they should be together for eternity.

He holds her closer, pressing a kiss to her lips. "I love you," he whispers. "Nothing is going to change that."

She knows it should. They ought to be good Purebloods who follow the rules, not adulterers who cannot destroy the love within their beings.

But she knows it's true. She will always love Abraxas, and this is not the end. When she becomes Druella Black, she will continue a life of lies, of never being satisfied with her marriage. Abraxas will always have her heart.

She will just have to learn to live with the guilt.

* * *

 _Balloons: Druella Black_

 _Gobstones, blue (deception): "Sometimes I want the world to stop spinning, even if it's just for a moment.", tie, copper_

 _Character Appreciation: Malfoy Manor_

 _Disney, guilt: Write about someone feeling guilty_

 _Book Club, The Count: arranged marriage, secret, "Don't be so sure about that. [Name] doesn't do anyone favors."_

 _Showtime, Charlie's Soliloquy (reprise): "I'm a fool."_

 _Amber's Attic, Runaway: Write about someone cheating with their partner's best friend._

 _Buttons: "It's because we have no other choice."_

 _Lyric Alley: and awakened another_

 _Faeries: spring, showers, rainbow_


	48. Live Your Truth

_Assignment 12, Gardening task 1: Write about someone showing at least one of the following characteristics/traits: beauty, balance, grace, femininity, innocence,_ _ **confidence**_ _, flirty._

 _Balloon: silver_

 _Disney, "For the First Time in Forever": Write about a character experiencing a freedom new to them._

 _Showtime, "Not My Father's Son": father &son _

_Birthstone, onyx: "I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you wanted."_

 _Gryffindor: brave_

 _Word Count: 1160_

* * *

 _Note on pronouns: Given the time period and the way that Phoebe was raised, he would not have known changing pronouns was an option, so I kept them as "she/her"._

 _ **Warning: Abuse**_

* * *

Phoebe studies her reflection in the mirror, scowling. The silver pairs well with her creamy skin, but the fact that it's a dress is unfair. The satin material is tight in all the right places—or, at least, that's what her mother calls it, as though there is anything _right_ about the swollen lumps on her chest and the unsightly curve of her hips—and it is a painful reminder of the expectations and pressures her family place upon her.

She is meant to be feminine. Physically, she succeeds. Her dark curls fall halfway down her back, and her pale, freckled face is so delicate that Eduardus would always call her a pretty pixie.

But it feels so wrong. There is something inside her that screams that she isn't Phoebe, that she isn't the perfect daughter her mother had hoped for. In fact, she isn't a daughter at all; she can feel the truth within her bones: though her body is female, she is, and always has been, a boy.

"Aren't you ready yet?" Licorus bursts through the door without knocking. "We haven't got all evening. How will Father find a suitor for you if you spend the entire night deciding which shade of pink to paint your lips?"

Phoebe scowls at her younger brother and rounds on him, grateful for an excuse to look away from the mirror. "It is improper to enter a lady's room unannounced!" she snaps, and she can appreciate the irony of calling herself a lady.

Licorus smirks, his slate grey eyes twinkling with amusement. "Anyone who has ever called me proper was lying," he huffs. "Come along. Your suitors await, dear sister."

Phoebe's cheeks grow warm, and she shakes her head. The thought of spending her night pretending to be a girl, pretending to enjoy the men's attention makes her stomach turn sour. "I do not want a suitor at all."

Her brother sighs. This is hardly the first time the two of them have had this conversation. No matter what, they can't find a solution. He is already set to marry the Tripe girl who he doesn't love; it is only a matter of time before Phoebe suffers a similar fate.

Unless…

It's such a mad idea. Her heartbeat quickens until it feels like a hand is squeezing her insides.

"Don't tell me you're ill," Licorus groans. "Father might actually murder you."

She shakes her head, her slender fingers brushing over the silver satin that clings to her body. "I'm not. I just need a moment longer," she says.

Licorus nods. "Hurry up. Guests are already arriving."

When he's gone, Phoebe lets out a trembling sigh. She grabs the ornate silver scissors from her bedside table and makes her way back to her mirror.

She is not a girl, and she will do everything within her power to erase every last trace of femininity. Her hands shake as she opens the scissors. She is terrified, but she is ready. Holding her breath, she closes the blades and watches the first clump of hair drop to her feet.

…

Wearing Licorus' suit fills her with a confidence she had never believed possible. Phoebe studies herself in the mirror, a bright smile tugging at her lips. She is still painfully aware that her features are too feminine, that she cannot truly pass as a boy yet, but she doesn't care. It finally feels like her skin belongs on her body, and she can breathe.

Phoebe pushes her fingers through her short hair. The cut is choppy and uneven; her hair looks wild, but she will tend to it later. For now, a little smoothing serum is all she needs to tame those unruly strands.

She takes a step back, examining the way the charcoal suit fits her. It covers the curves of her hips, and makes her breasts much less noticeable.

"Father is going to kill me," she murmurs.

But it's a risk she's willing to take.

…

Phoebe has always hated these silly little balls her parents insist on dragging her to. They've always emphasized how she needs to attend them and learn to be a proper lady. But the parties have always felt so suffocating. Between the dresses she had been forced to wear to the vapid, gossiping girls who had tried to make Phoebe into one of them, she had come to equate social events with inhumane torture.

Now, she feels like she is truly herself as she walks into the ballroom in her brother's suit. She is no longer a nervous little girl; she is a confident man. All eyes seem to rest upon her, but she does not care. There is no doubt in her mind that she will be the latest bit of gossip.

 _Let them talk_ , she thinks. _It doesn't matter._

She is meant to care about her family's reputation, to value it more than her own happiness, but she refuses. It is unfair for her to pretend for their sakes. Phoebe will not allow herself to put her happiness and dreams on hold simply to make her family proud.

Her mother reaches her first. "What is the meaning of this?" she demands, her thin fingers curling around Phoebe's wrist, pressing bruises into her skin. "Go change. _Now."_

"I'm tired of changing," Phoebe says, pulling away with a wince. "I'm ready to be myself. I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you wanted."

"Phoebe—"

"I need to be comfortable in my own skin. Can you please understand that?"

Before her mother can answer, her father reaches them, and there is only disgust in his dark eyes. Without a word, he grabs Phoebe by her short hair, forcing her forward. She wants to cry out, but she bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes the metallic taste of blood.

 _Boys don't cry_. That's the lesson her father had taught Eduardus and Licorus during their punishments. Boys don't cry, and Phoebe won't either.

"You will _not_ make a mockery of this family," her father snaps as he opens the small closet door beneath the staircase. "You _will_ find a suitor and abandon this silly nonsense, little girl."

"I'm not a girl!" she insists. "I'm a boy!"

He shoves her inside and slams the door shut, leaving Phoebe in total darkness. "You can come out when I find someone willing to marry you," he tells her. "So, you had better hope this little stunt hasn't ruined your chances."

Phoebe slides to the floor and hugs her knees to her chest. Tears sting her eyes, but she blinks them away, manic laughter spilling from her lips.

It doesn't matter if he finds her a husband or not. No matter the outcome, she will be miserable for the rest of her days. At least her life will be short if she's left in the closet to die.

More importantly, at least she will die knowing that she had lived her truth in the end.


	49. Pretty Corpses

_Assignment 12, psychology task 2: Write about a fear of growing old._

 _Warning: suicide_

 _Word Count: 1057_

* * *

 _The sight of her grandmother's corpse in that polished wooden coffin is disgusting. Hesper can still remember her grandmother as a strong woman with so much life in her dark eyes and the most beautiful chestnut curls that could make perfect little Phoebe envious. The_ thing _in that wooden box is not Grandmother. It is some grotesque husk, all wrinkled skin and thinning white hair._

" _Hesper, dear," Aunt Cressida beams, resting her bony hands on Hesper's shoulders. "Look at you. How old are you now, girl?"_

" _F-fifteen," Hesper answers nervously._

 _There's something about her father's sister that has always made her uncomfortable. Where her parents are strict and rough, Aunt Cressida is gentle. Sometimes, Hesper wonders if the woman is playing some sort of game and trying to lure her into some false sense of security before ripping her to shreds._

 _Aunt Cressida pinches Hesper's cheek. "You look so much like my mother," she says, gesturing at the corpse for emphasis. "The resemblance is really uncanny, though you have Lyra's delicate little nose."_

 _Hesper looks at the coffin again and shudders. She looks nothing like the woman inside. Her grandmother's body is broken and brittle; hers is strong—if a little heavier than Hesper would like. Hesper does not have unsightly veins pressing against paper thin skin, and her hair is still dark and thick. But she does not argue with Aunt Cressida. Hesper is a smart enough girl, and she knows her place. Instead, she just smiles and says, "Thank you, Aunt Cressida." before excusing herself._

Hesper stands before the mirror, brushing her fingers over the vial of poison in her hand. At twenty, her youthful looks are already fading—but they've been fading for such a long time, even if no one else has had the heart to admit it.

"It's okay," she tells herself, setting the vial down and touching her fingertips to the telltale lines etched into the skin around her eyes. "I can fix this."

She has tried everything but to no avail. Beauty potions, hair tonics, youthful elixirs—by now, Hesper has tried them all, and nothing will take away the horrors of aging. Every morning, she finds another line or wrinkle; she discovers another streak of grey hiding among her dark curls. Soon, she will be a fragile, ancient shell just like her grandmother.

The thought turns her stomach sour, and she inhales deeply, shaking her head. She will not give in. The prospect of growing old, of becoming like her grandmother has hung over her head all these years. Licorus insists that she's crazy, that maybe Alexia hadn't been the only afflicted with madness. But she knows he is only being kind to her. It must be hard for him to remain a handsome, youthful Adonis while his twin withers before his eyes, rapidly becoming a disgusting hag.

"It'll all be worth it," she assures her reflection, pushing a hand through her curls. "You will be young and lovely forever."

" _And what are you brewing this time?" Licorus asks with a roll of his eyes._

" _A tonic to smooth out lines and wrinkles," she answers._

 _Her brother scoffs and sits across from her, staring at the bubbling contents within the cauldron. "First of all, we're nineteen," he says impatiently, prodding her shoulder with a slender finger. "We don't actually have lines and wrinkles."_

"You _don't," she corrects._

" _Stubborn thing, aren't you?"_

 _Without answering, Hesper adds the powdered unicorn horn and begins to stir. It isn't fair. They are the same age, but Licorus is still so youthful and handsome. Hesper, on the other hand, looks more and more like their grandmother each day. With each birthday that passes, it only seems to get worse. The weight of growing old presses against her, and it is slowly suffocating her._

" _Second of all," he continues when she doesn't respond, "you don't actually know what you're doing. You've never taken a Potions lesson, and this isn't exactly a novice potion."_

" _I can read."_

" _Whatever makes you happy," he says dryly. "But don't come crying to me when you've accidentally poisoned yourself."_

 _She feels a flutter of hope at that, and a grin tugs at her lips. "You're right. Tonics aren't the answer," she says, jumping to her feet, almost manic from the renewed sense of possibility. "Can you Vanish the potion for me?"_

 _She doesn't wait for Licorus to answer. With a spring in her step, she hurries off. She will be twenty in two days, and maybe that's the perfect age to stop at._

It isn't necessarily that she wants to die. Really, Hesper loves life. Even if she is still bitter about not going to Hogwarts, or never being beautiful enough for Father to find her a suitor, she enjoys her life.

Enjoyment isn't enough. There will always be that dark shadow that creeps closer, that constant reminder that the world is still spinning, and she is getting older.

But she doesn't have to. There's a way out, and she is brave enough to take it.

Hesper wears her finest dress—an emerald green gown with ornate silver trim that her mother gave her for her seventeenth birthday— and fine silk gloves. Her grandmother's pearls rest around her neck, and she can't help but admire the air of elegance the necklace adds. Her dark hair falls freely down her back, ending at the base of her spine.

She will _not_ be some vile, twisted, ancient corpse when she is laid to rest.

With trembling hands, she picks up the vial again. Hesper doesn't know what it actually is, only that she had stolen it from her mother's large collection of poisons. She only hopes that it works quickly and causes no pain. At twenty, she can guarantee that her corpse will be young, but she wants to be beautiful too. If the poison leaves her wearing a mask of agony, she will not have accomplished her goal.

"Just like falling asleep," she assures herself, removing the cork.

The golden liquid within the vial smells almost sweet. Hesper smiles to herself as she lifts it to her lips and drains the contents in quick gulp. Her body grows warm instantly, and she falls to the floor, her lungs tightening. Even as she struggles for breath, she smiles.

She is not like her grandmother after all.


	50. Free

_Balloon Wall: "Whatever you do, never run back to what broke you."- Frank Ocean_

 _Penny Slots: Phoebe Black, exhausted, flower_

 _Hedge Maze: (Color) rose_

 _A Note on Pronouns: Given the time period and the way Phoebe was raised, he wouldn't have known that pronouns could be changed. So I keep them as she/her for that reason._

 _Word Count: 451_

* * *

Some days, Phoebe feels the call. It would be so easy to return home; she hadn't been disowned, after all, and her mother would probably welcome her with open arms.

But she cannot. Her family would expect her to return as their precious, perfect daughter. Those days are over. Being away from them, she has grown more comfortable in her own skin. She has learned the liberation of being a boy, of embracing who she truly.

Returning home would mean abuse and torture. She still wakes up screaming, so convinced she's still being locked away as punishment for chopping off her long her hair, for presenting herself as she truly is. There are days where she still fears that she is broken. Maybe that will never change.

"What are you doing over here, looking all mopey, my love?" Moira Flint asks, stepping closer. She holds a flower between her fingers, and her plump lips are just as rosy as the petals. "It's such a beautiful day. Too beautiful to be so sad."

"I'm not sad," Phoebe answers, grinning as her girlfriend caresses her cheek with the silky rose colored petals. "I'm exhausted."

Moira takes a step back, her lips pursing. Her golden brown eyes sweep over Phoebe, and she nods. "That's what you get for thinking too much, my love," she says. "Makes your brain hurt."

Phoebe rolls her eyes and pulls Moira close, pushing her thin fingers through her lovers blonde curls. "Are you happy?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Moira asks, her lips tickling Phoebe's neck. "I have an amazing boyfriend—"

"Who you can never marry."

Moira snorts. "Hush. I have a home in the beautiful countryside, complete with a garden," she continues, drawing away and tucking the flowers stem behind Phoebe's ear. "It may not be a perfect life to you, but it means everything to me."

"You know I'm broken."

Moira's arms wrap around Phoebe. She rests her head against Phoebe's collarbone and exhales deeply. "No, my love," she says, her delicate fingers caressing Phoebe's arm. "Your family tried to break you, but you are strong."

Phoebe almost smiles at that. It's been such a long journey. She is still haunted, but Moira makes it easier some days, and she feels like maybe it's worth it after all.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

Moira beams up at her, a mischievous grin on her lips. "You got incredibly lucky," she teases before capturing Phoebe's lips in a soothing kiss.

Maybe it isn't perfect. The demons will never leave her alone, and she will never truly be free of her family. But she is healing, and she has a future to look forward to. Nothing else should matter.


	51. Day and Night

_Book Club, Tiger Lily: defend, arranged marriage, "I've heard a lot of poetry now, and I've decided I don't like it."_

 _Showtime, Ten Duel Commandments: immature_

 _Amber's Attic: AbraxasDruella_

 _Hamilton Mania, threatening someone: Petrificus Totalus ("Look at where we are, look at where we started.")_

 _Easy piñata_

 _583 words_

* * *

"I don't know why you carry that ridiculous thing around," Cygnus says with a sneer.

Druella clutches her book closer and continues with her stroll along the lake. She wants nothing more than to return to the castle and be free of her future husband, but there are too many eyes watching. Salazar forbid anyone send word to her father or his that they aren't spending time together.

Not that she cares. She doesn't want this marriage at all. Cygnus is too immature for her tastes, and if she hadn't been forced into the contract, she would have never given him the time of day.

"I rather like my poetry," she says curtly.

He snorts and pushes her, nearly knocking her into the water. "I've heard a lot of poetry now," he tells her with a roll of his blue eyes, "and I've decided I don't like it. You'll have to give that rubbish up when we get married."

"I'm not about to stand here and defend my right to read poetry," she snaps.

He comes to an abrupt stop and draws his wand on her. Druella freezes, fear chilling her insides. Cygnus is a spoiled child with a temper, but surely he won't actually hurt her!

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ "

He aims wide, missing her, but she doesn't relax. Cygnus is a skilled duelist. If he had intended to hit her, he would have. It's a tantrum, a reminder that he has to get his way, that she will be his wife and have to bow to his every desire.

"Be a good girl and don't argue with me," he says, his words low and dangerous as he snatches the book from her and tosses it into the lake.

As quick as his dark side appeared, it's gone again, as though his immature outburst hadn't happened at all. Beaming brightly, Cygnus takes her hand, and they resume their stroll.

…

"Look at where we are," Druella says as she curls against Abraxas' side. "Look at where we started. I just wish…"

She can't bring herself to say it. There's a painful pressure building in her chest, and all she can manage is a sob.

Abraxas holds her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I know," he whispers, his strong fingers stroking her hair lovingly. "I wish we could be together too."

They are together. Cygnus may have her days, but her nights belong to Abraxas. They stay hidden in the secret passage that they call their own, and they know no one will ever find them.

But it has to come to an end. She will be Druella Black the moment she leaves Hogwarts, and he will marry Acanthia Goyle. True love and happily ever after don't exist for people like them.

"He will break me," she says.

His lips find hers. When the tears spill from her eyes, he doesn't shame her for them. He only holds her closer and kisses her harder.

"You burn too bright," be tells her. "You are not some wild horse than can be tamed."

And she wants to believe him. She wants more than anything to know that she will be safe, that Cygnus will never hurt her. But she doesn't. Even if he doesn't mean to be cruel, Abraxas still kills her slowly by whispering hope.

"I love you," she whispers.

When he says it back, it calms the storm raging in her mind. Everything will not be okay, but, for now, she can pretend.


	52. Missed Years

_Hamilton Mania, reminiscing: photo album (Marius Black)_

 _Character Appreciation: raised by someone other than parents_

 _Showtime, Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story: time_

 _Lyric Alley: Your family brings out a different side of me._

 _Easy piñata_

 _584 words_

* * *

"No need to be so tense, dear," Josephine Murray says brightly. "I assure you, we don't bite."

Dorea blushes, her cheeks burning with color. She mutters a quick apology before glancing at Marius. It still seems so strange to her that he is her brother, yet they are so different now because of the Muggles who raised him. She wonders what he might have been like if he hadn't been a Squib; how different would things be right now.

"You're staring again," Marius chuckles pushing a hand through his messy black curls.

Before Dorea can say anything, Thomas Murray appears, beaming. "Found it!" he calls, holding up a photo album before setting it on the table.

Marius groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Must we?"

"I want to see," Dorea says, and Josephine is happy to oblige.

The older woman opens the photo album, and Dorea gasps. Sometimes, it's easy to forget how much had passed. Seeing Marius there, looking so young, feels strange. Her eyes flicker back to him now, as though she's trying to reassure herself that he and the frail, skinny boy in the album are the same person.

"Poor dear was skin and bones when he showed up," Josephine says. "Not to judge your family or anything, but Marius was in a bad way."

Josephine flips through the album, and Dorea watches as her brother grows before her very eyes. Dorea blinks rapidly, trying not to let the tears fall. Growing up, she had been forced to accept the fact that Marius was no longer part of her family. Watching Josephine go through the album now, seeing every birthday and holiday she's missed with Marius breaks her heart.

She clears her throat. "Excuse me for a minute. I just need some fresh air."

She hurries out the front door. The cool air whipping against her face does little to steady her nerves, but it feels like a weight has been lifted.

It isn't just missing so many years with her brother, she realizes. The Murrays are such good people. Marius had been raised in love. Maybe there's part of her that's jealous of that fact.

"You okay?"

Dorea startles, turning and finding herself face to face with her older brother. She swallows dryly, offering him a shaky smile. "Sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Marius shakes his head. "I do," he assures her, ruffling her dark hair. "They're nothing like the Blacks. When I first started living with them, I had to run away sometimes too." He pauses turning his attention to the soft glow of the nearly full moon overhead. A small smile plays at his lips. "You'll get used to it. I did, at least."

She wraps her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. "I'm glad you're back in my life," she whispers.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and holds her close. "I don't plan on going anywhere," he assures her. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

"Good. I'll always want you around."

They pull apart. Marius nods towards the door. "Come on. They haven't even gotten to my humiliating teenage pictures," he chuckles.

Dorea takes his hand and allows him to lead her inside.

She is grateful Marius and his family are willing to allow her to be part of their lives. Maybe it will take some time to get used to, but she knows it will be worth it in the end.


	53. Smoke

_Hamilton Mania, having an argument: angst (evoke)_

 _Showtime, What Comes Next: I'm so blue._

 _Word Count: 1365_

 _For Sophie_

* * *

I.

She's fifteen the first time it happens.

Lucretia doesn't mean to end up on the Muggle side of town. For years, she's been told horror stories of how filthy those creatures are, how they're damn near beasts. But it doesn't look so different from Knockturn Alley. The streets are just as dark, just as grimy, and Lucretia is not afraid.

"You're a pretty one."

She nearly screams when the man places a hand on her hip. He's handsome enough—a strange thing, since Muggles are meant to be foul, vile things—and his smile makes her shiver. All Lucretia can do is stare at him, her mouth opening and closing silently. Her hand twitches, and she

"You must be new. How much?"

"How much for what?

His thin lips quirk into an amused smirk. Keeping one hand on her hip, he grips her dark curls and pulls roughly. "How much for you?" he whispers, his lips against her ear.

She still doesn't know what he means, but the words fall from her lips. "Twenty?"

His dark brows raise, and he whistles. "Bit steep. Virgin?"

Her cheeks flush with heat, and she fans herself. Muggles truly are filthy creatures, and yet she can't bring herself walk away from him. "Yes." It's barely above a whisper, but his triumphant grin tells her that he hears it.

…

She's sore as she dresses again. Each movement sends a fresh wave of pain through her body, but she forces herself to ignore it. She needs to get home soon.

"You weren't lying about being a virgin," he says, clearly impressed as he throws strange coins onto the bed. "Would love to have you again."

Lucretia is certain she should feel dirty. Not only has she given herself away to a man, she's allowed a _Muggle_ to touch her and defile her. But she had loved it. There had been something terribly exciting about it, as though this is her own private rebellion against her strict, traditional parents.

"When?" she asks, tucking the bizarre money into her purse.

"Same time next week?"

It's dangerous to make plans, but she nods anyway. "Yes."

II.

Her parents never seem to notice her disappearances. Sneaking out proves to be far too easy, and she finds herself in the Muggle town more and more during the summers over the next two years.

Leaving Hogwarts feels like more of a relief than she had anticipated. She has more time to prowl, to explore, to enjoy.

…

"Good to see you, Cretia."

Her red painted lips tug into a smile. "Miss me, Sir?"

The man—he never gives his name, only ever insists she calls him _Sir_ —grins at her, and it sends a shiver down her spine. Lucretia has been with many Muggles since her first endeavor two years earlier, but none have managed to excite her the way Sir does. Even her first hadn't been as thrilling.

"I have something for you," he says, "to show you how much I missed you."

Lucretia's dark eyes twinkle with excitement at the promise of a surprise. Sir has always been so rough, so hard, and she loves knowing he has a soft spot.

She doesn't ask questions when his fingers curl around her thin wrist. By now, she knows he likes her quiet and obedient; it had been strange at first, but now she loves it. She follows him throw the dark streets until they reach what looks like an abandoned building. Frowning, she takes a step back, shivering despite the summer's warm breeze.

Sir opens the door and gestures for her to enter. She obeys, always his good girl.

Inside, she realizes it isn't abandoned. The lightning is dim, and thick smoke drifts through the air. Lucretia tenses, confused by the strange scent—sweet and mild, almost like a flower has caught fire.

"Haven't tried opium, baby girl?" Sir whispers in her ear.

Lucretia shakes her head. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, and she can't speak. Sir only laughs and leads her through the smoke, past the half-naked bodies sprawled across the floor. Lucretia stays as close to him as possible.

"It'll make you feel good," he tells her as he sits on a vacant rug. "Don't you wanna feel good?"

She nods and sits beside him, parting her lips for him when instructed.

III.

Opium is beautiful. She doesn't know how only Muggles could know about such a wonderful thing. The thick smoke fills her lungs, and she drifts and drifts, and there is only peace and warmth.

IV.

"It isn't free."

Sir's words feel like a slap in the face. Lucretia shakes her head, shivering. It doesn't matter how tightly she wraps her arms around herself, she can't seem to stop falling apart. "I need it."

She doesn't know why he's being like this. He's given her plenty over the past week, making sure she feels good. How can he decide the opium isn't free anymore?

His dark brows raise, and cruel smirk pulls at his lips. "What would you do for it?" he asks, his fingers brushing through her tangled hair.

"Anything."

"I really hope you mean that."

…

She doesn't care that she can't keep the money she earns anymore. It isn't like she needs it anyway. Muggle money isn't good, and there would be too many questions if she tried to exchange it. Besides, she still has plenty of gold waiting for her if she ever goes home.

"Good girl," he praises, taking the money and counting it. "Busy girl."

She waits, trembling hands wringing together as she bounces on the balls of her feet. The moments between her highs always stretch for an eternity, and she can't help being restless.

Finally, satisfied with his profits, Sir waves her forward into the den. Lucretia thanks him before walking deeper into that sweet perfume of smoke. The girls—who Lucretia knows now are _Sir's_ other girls—barely seem to notice when she passes. They are too caught up in their own ecstasy, letting the opium smoke carry them away.

Lucretia takes a spot in the back corner, smiling to herself. She has worked hard all night, and now it is finally paying off. Now, she can find her peace.

V.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

That voice evokes memories of cold and hatred. It takes her several moments to recognize her own brother. Orion's storm grey eyes narrow as he approaches her. Lucretia considers running, but she is unarmed, and it would be easy for him to Stun her. Her wand is still at their parents' home, kept safely hidden.

"I- I can explain," she says.

Maybe she could on normal days, but her brain is fuzzy now, still caught in that blissful opium haze. Orion doesn't give her a chance, though. His fingers wrap around her wrist, capturing her in an iron-like grip from which she cannot escape.

Not that she has the energy, anyway. She's still floating, still good, and even this isn't enough to force her down.

"I'm so blue," she says. "I need…"

"You _need_ to shut up," her brother snaps. "Do you know how worried everyone has been? Mother has barely left her room at all, and what have you been doing? Hiding in the slums, playing with Muggles."

"It was fun," Lucretia tells him with a giggle.

She doesn't even notice Orion lets go of her wrist until his palm slams roughly into her cheek. With a yelp, she stares at him, shocked betrayal in her wide eyes.

"I hope you had your fun," he says, "because Father will do much worse than I did."

…

She misses Sir and the smoke, the joys of letting men have her body.

Lucretia slaps her palms against her wall, screaming as the chills dig their way into her bones and her stomach twists into knots.

She has too escape.

She needs to get away.

But she knows it is impossible, and she is stuck here, forced back into a life as a Pureblood woman whose only goal is to marry and produce heirs.

A bitter laugh escapes her dry, cracked lips. She would rather be a whore.


	54. Special Girl

_Showtime, Room Where It Happens: jealousy_

 _Hamilton Mania, feeling left out: being too young or old to do something (basket)_

 _Easy piñata_

 _Word Count: 550_

* * *

"It isn't fair!" Narcissa cries, folding her arms over her chest and stomping her foot.

By now, she knows that being the youngest makes her special. All it takes is a small pout and a few tears, and she can make her parents melt.

"I want to go to Hogwarts too!" she continues, sniffling and rubbing her eyes.

"You can't," Bellatrix says with a roll of her eyes. "You're too little."

"But Andromeda gets to go!"

Andromeda offers her a soft smile that's almost apologetic. She doesn't speak, but that's not surprising. Andromeda has always been the quiet one, always watching and never intervening.

"Enough!" their mother says, kneeling in front of Narcissa and gripping her shoulders gently. "Enough, my flower. Jealousy is most unbecoming."

Narcissa sniffles again, but she doesn't protest. Though she knows how to make her mother melt, she cannot manage it as easily as she can her father.

"Remember, Blacks inspire jealousy," her mother says, reaching up and pushing Narcissa's hair behind her ear. "We do not give into it."

"Yes, Mother."

Her mother pats her cheek with a soft smile. "Good girl. Now, go play."

…

Narcissa thinks that she can do it. She packs her clothes into a small basket. Her sisters have trunks that they use, but she can't; she has to be as subtle as possible. No one will think anything of it if she carries a little basket to the station with her.

A grin pulls at her lips. Her family may be known for always ending up in Slytherin, but Narcissa feels like she would work well in Ravenclaw.

Feeling pleased with herself, Narcissa hides her basket away. She will go to Hogwarts whether anyone likes it or not.

…

Her plan falls apart within seconds of getting onto the platform. There are too many people there—all of them so much older and taller than she is—and she gets lost in the crowd easily, losing sight of her family. It wouldn't take much to get onto the Hogwarts Express, but she doesn't care anymore. She is lost and afraid, and there's no stopping the tears that sting her eyes.

"There you are!"

Feeling the hand on her shoulder startles her. The basket falls from her grip, and her few belongings spill out onto the ground.

"What's this, Narcissa?" Her father leans down, collecting her things, his brows raised in confusion. "Where do you think you were going?"

"H-Hogwarts," Narcissa admits, wiping her eyes. "Bella and Andi get to go, and I want to go too!"

Her father wraps his free arm around her and sighs. "You'll go when you're old enough," he says.

"I want to go _now._ "

But she knows how useless it is. Even if her father would let her, it would all be for nothing. She is still too young, and the headmaster wouldn't make an exception for her.

"How about you and I go out for ice cream?" he asks. "Bellatrix and Andromeda won't have ice cream at the feast, so that makes it a special treat."

Narcissa brightens at that. She grabs his hand, nodding and allowing him to lead her back to the rest of the family. Now, as she says goodbye to her sisters, she smiles, knowing that she gets to be special.


	55. One Day

_Auction: a funeral_

 _Tearoom: frowning_

 _Disney: "Close your mouth, please, [Name]. You are not a codfish."_

 _Book Club, Offred: "The future is a nightmare.", red, mistress_

 _Amber's Attic, Blackwork: member of the Black family._

 _Em's Emporium, Amber: Write about a character who has less than 50 fics in the archive._

 _Angel's Arcade, Mileena: pink, "Sister…", sharp_

 _Sherlock: nightmare_

 _Insane House Challenge: a funeral_

 _Word Count: 683_

* * *

Licorus hates funerals. It doesn't matter that it's his own father being laid to rest. He would rather be anywhere else but there.

His grey eyes flicker toward a movement in the distance, and he wonders if he's seeing things. Surely he must be. There is no way that Phoebe would be here, not after everything that's happened.

But there's no denying that familiar face, all sharp angles and haughty smirks. It may have taken their father's death, but his sister has finally come home.

Licorus stands rigid, frowning when Magenta insists on taking his hand. He jerks away with a sharp inhale. "Excuse me," he mutters. "I need…"

He doesn't have to finish the sentence. It isn't as though anyone would care. If anyone asks, he can always say he had been overwhelmed. After all, everyone knows that Oberon Black had favored him above the rest of the children.

Without even glancing back, he hurries away until he reaches the tree where he's sure he had seen his sister a moment earlier. "Phoebe?"

He hears movement, and turns. There she is, though so much has changed about her. Her dark hair is short and choppy, giving her an almost manly appearance. The dark suit, coupled with a stylish red tie, is tailored just right so that it hides her feminine curves. The only thing that betrays her is her plump pink lips that are now pulled into a thin line.

"Sister…"

Phoebe laughs and plucks a cigarette from her suit pocket. "Do I still look like your sister?" she asks with a roll of her dark eyes. "None of you could ever quite gasp that I'm a boy."

Licorus remembers the fights. Though he would never dare say it aloud, he's proud of her. He's been so afraid to embrace the things that make him different. How could he not admire her bravery.

"Close your mouth, please, Licorus," she says,taking a deep drag of her cigarette. "You are not a codfish."

Licorus snaps his mouth closed, nodding. Several seconds pass in silence. "You could attend the funeral, you know," he says. "Mother misses you."

Phoebe chokes on smoke; Licorus can't tell if it's from laughing or coughing. "Mother doesn't miss me," she says. "She misses the perfect little daughter she wanted me to be."

"She wants what's best for you, for your future…"

"The future is a nightmare," Phoebe says flatly, shaking her head "If had stayed and been the _girl_ she wanted me to be, it would be a living hell. If I'm lucky, I might have found myself acting as a mistress to some noble bloke."

Licorus winces. He's never heard a woman speak so bluntly. Then again, Phoebe insists she is not a woman. Maybe she's right.

"Why did you come?" he asks.

"To pay my respects." She shrugs before dropping her cigarette carelessly to the ground and quickly stamping out the ember. "He may have been a bastard, but he's still my father."

"Then come," he insists. "Come down and see everyone."

Phoebe's lips quirk, and she offers him a mock salute. "Take care, Cor," she says as she walks away.

Licorus stares after her for a moment. He considers following her, but he resists. There is nothing she can do for him. With a heavy sigh, he turns at last and rejoins his wife outside the mausoleum.

"Where were you?" Magenta demands, frowning. "You didn't even seal his body like you were supposed to! That was _your_ responsibility!"

"I needed a moment," he grumbles. "It's an emotional day."

His wife softens at that. She throws her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, warm embrace. "I'm sorry, darling," she whispers. "I should have known."

Licorus doesn't bother trying to pull away. He knows how futile it is. Grudgingly, he allows Magenta to hold him, convincing her that she's offering him a great comfort.

He is not brave like Phoebe. He does not know how to break away from expectations and be himself. For now, he will conform.

Maybe one day he will find the strength.


	56. Seeing Failure

_Divination task 2:Write about someone trying to learn about their future via scrying_

 _Word Count: 573_

* * *

Marius knows he has to be careful. His parents may not be gone for long, and he knows the house-elf will eventually run out of chores to do downstairs. If he gets caught…

The nine year old shivers. He doesn't even want to think about his father's notoriously cruel, sadistic punishments. If he focuses on that now, he will lose what little nerve he has.

Keeping his head held high, he moves carefully down the hallway, walking on his tiptoes so that his siblings will not hear him. He comes to a stop outside his parents' bedroom. This is ridiculous. He needs to turn and give up. Only disappointment can come of this.

But he doesn't. There's a gnawing fear in his gut, and he has to know. If he doesn't, he will continue to feel isolated from the rest of his family, always afraid he is truly defective.

Barely daring to breathe, he pushes the mahogany door open and steps inside, his bare feet sinking into the plush, dark green carpet. He hurries along. There is no time to do anything except what he's come here for.

The mirror is easy enough to find. His mother keeps in her bedside drawer. Marius stares at it curiously. As long as he can remember, he's heard stories of the strange heirloom. His mother says her great-great-great-grandmother had been a renowned Seer, and that she had used the mirror for scrying.

The boy scoffs. It's just an ordinary mirror, nothing special. The only thing that sets it apart from any other ornate mirror he's seen is that the glass has been tinted emerald, giving everything reflected by it an eerie glow.

Marius' hope begins to fade, but he isn't ready to give up. Maybe his imagination just isn't vivid enough; maybe he needs to try harder to believe.

He fixes his grey eyes upon the emerald glass. There _has_ to be something there. Just because he hasn't managed his first display of magic like his siblings have, doesn't mean he's useless. Maybe his strengths lie elsewhere, and he's actually the family's first Seer in centuries.

But there is nothing there. All he sees are his high cheekbones and messy curls. There are no glimpses into the future, nothing divined—unless the fact that seeing his own face is just more proof that he will lead a life of endless failure, always a disappointment to his family.

As he tucks the mirror away, he hears the door open. Heart racing, he looks up in a panic. Pollux stands before him, smirking. "And what have we here?" he asks, folding his long, thin arms over his chest. "Mother will not be pleased if she knows."

"And she won't know," Marius mutters, closing the drawer.

"What were you doing?"

"Trying to scry," Marius admits. He knows by now that lying to his brother is not an easy feat. Pollux is ruthless and can read people so easily. "I didn't find anything."

"Brilliant." The older rolls his eyes and ruffles his dark hair, clearly bored with the exchange already. "Can we just tell Father that you are definitely a Squib and get this over with? Or do you have some other failed strategy in that empty little Squib brain of yours?"

Marius doesn't even try to defend himself from the cruel words. Deflated, he hunches forward and walks past his brother, head hanging in shame.

He will never be enough.

* * *

 _For_

Gobstones,gold stone (failure): "I didn't find anything.", emerald, mirror  
Character Appreciation: strategy

 _Disney, isolation: Write about someone feeling isolated_

 _Crafty Corner, blanket squares: Write about an object passed down through generations_

 _Book Club, Aunt Lydia: dark green, punishment, scoff_

 _Showtime, Making Things Up Again: imagination_

 _Ami's Audio, The Going Home Song: Write about someone at home_

 _Film festival: brilliant_

 _Tearoom: angst_


	57. Part of Him

_Mythology, task 9: Write about someone going through the motions of getting pregnant._

 _Book Club, Serena Joy: cunning, singing, powder blue_

 _Showtime, Tomorrow is a Latter Day: "I'd do anything for you."_

 _Amber's Attic, pinup girl: dressing up_

 _Sophie's Shelf: AbraxasDruella_

 _Angel's Arcade, Sub Zero: ice, snow, powder blue_

 _Chocolate, cherries/peels: steamy scene_

 _Gobstones, orange stone (pregnancy): wine, innocent, relax_

 _365: "I missed you."_

 _Word Count: 678_

* * *

 _Warning: smutty content plus dubious pregnancy stuff_

* * *

Druella decides that everything will be perfect. It doesn't matter that she and Abraxas have shared so many intimate moments in this home—her childhood manor that is only ever used for summer retreats; no one will ever think to look for her here in the winter.

Today is different. She is going to have a piece of Abraxas forever, even though he doesn't know it yet.

She is so tired of being forced to belong to Cygnus. Everything seems to belong to her husband—her home, her children, even her body. She just wants one thing that can never be his.

Her blue eyes flicker to the clock. Abraxas will be here any moment, and she has to be ready. Without wasting any more time, she Summons a bottle of wine and removes the cork. The sweet scent of grapes fills the air, and she smiles.

With another flick of her wand, she Summons the glasses and fills each about halfway before digging into her bag. Druella pulls out two vials. She takes the first one, a powder blue liquid for virility, and pours it into Abraxas' glass. She gulps down the second, a golden yellow fertility potion, grimacing at the bitter taste.

Satisfied that the potion will do what it's supposed to, she quickly strips down and pulls the sheer, white lace dress from her bag. When she puts it on, she can't help but to admire her reflection. The color suggests that she is innocent, but the way it clings to her subtle curves proves that her thoughts are not so pure.

Abraxas will not be able to keep his hands off her.

Still grinning, she grabs her glass of wine and makes her way to the window, watching the snow drift to the ground, coating the lakeside in a thick, white blanket.

…

Abraxas arrives, tracking in slush and ice with an apologetic smile. His eyes rest upon Druella, and his jaw falls slack.

"I missed you," she tells him, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him, holding him close.

She wants nothing more than to rip his clothes off right then and there, but she knows she must be patient. Abraxas will still need to drink his potion-spiked wine. Besides, there's no fun in rushing things.

"You look beautiful," he says, a soft pink staining his pale cheeks.

She grins, and pulls back. "Then join me for some wine."

Abraxas takes her hand, and she leads him to the bedroom where his wine sits untouched, and hers has been refilled. "To us," she says, lifting her glass in a toast.

"To us," her lover echoes.

…

It's easy to forget how cold it is outside because she so warm beneath Abraxas. He moves in and out slowly, making sure she can feel each thrust.

Cygnus never touches her like this. Her husband is always in a hurry, as though he can't be bothered to make _her_ feel good. Selfish bastard.

Her nails dig into his back, leaving lines down his skin, urging him on. His movements become more frantic, more desperate, until he finally cries out in rapturous bliss before collapsing on top of her, his body slowly relaxing.

"I love you," he whispers, his lips tickling her neck.

"I love you too."

…

It becomes harder to see Abraxas after that. Cygnus' hold on her seems to tighten. Sometimes, she wonders if he suspects her infidelity. She doubts it; mostly, he just sees her as an extension of himself, just another toy to brag about.

But it's okay. She can feel it in her bones that everything will work out somehow.

…

Druella rubs her stomach, softly singing a lullaby. The air around her is still blue from the positive diagnostic spell.

She is with child; a part of her beloved Abraxas grows within her.

"I'd do anything for you," she tells her unborn child. "Anything."

She loves Bellatrix and Andromeda dearly, but this child is special.

She finally has something in her life that does not belong to Cygnus.


	58. Kitchen Disasters

_Assignment 3, Gardening task 10: Write about a happy marriage_

 _Auction: Violet_

 _Word Count: 697_

* * *

Dorea feels a flicker of panic flutter through her body as she looks around at the mess. Swearing loudly and fluently, she hurries around, trying desperately to extinguish the flames engulfing most of the stove.

" _Aguamenti!_ " she cries, and a jet of water gushes from her wand. Instead of saving the day, it only makes matters worse.

Panic quickening her heartbeat, she casts spell after spell, uncertain how to proceed. Dorea doesn't know how long she spends, desperately trying to make the fire die down, but it finally works.

In the back of her mind, she worries that the spells might have ruined breakfast, but it takes only seconds to realize that her use of magic isn't the problem.. The sausage and hash have been blackened so badly that it's hard to imagine they had ever been edible at all. Still, she's hopeful. Dorea extends a slender finger and pokes a bit of burnt potato; it is so crisp that it snaps and breaks with an audible _crack._

Groaning, she wipes the sweat from her brow, a fresh string of swears and curses spilling from her lips.

"Is everything okay?"

Dorea turns, and everything seems to get worse. Charlus stands in the doorway of the kitchen, hazel eyes swimming with concern. His dark hair is disheveled, and his usually neat shirt is wrinkled and halfway unbuttoned in his haste.

Dorea's full lips twist into an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, love," she says with a heavy sigh, gesturing at the disaster of a stove before her. "I wanted to do something nice for our anniversary."

Charlus stares at her, blinking slowly. "So, you tried to burn my kitchen down?" he asks, and there's no mistaking the amusement that softens his tone.

Dorea feels herself relaxing. Sometimes, it's so easy to forget that Charlus is nothing like her family. Growing up, even the smallest mistakes meant harsh punishment. Blacks are always meant to be the epitome of perfection; there are no exceptions.

But Charlus is good and kind. Her husband greets her clumsiness with humor. He takes her dark days, her every fear, and he turns them into something beautiful.

"I wanted to make you breakfast," she grumbles as he closes the distance between them.

Charlus grins and shakes his head, stroking her chestnut curls. "We have a house-elf for a reason," he reminds her with a soft chuckle. "Wally will fix everything right up, and… Why are you giving me that look?"

Dorea isn't sure what look he means, but she can guess. She rubs her hand over the back of her neck, clearing her throat. "You see," she says, dropping her hand and brushing her thumb over her violet blouse, "I might have dismissed Wally for the morning— _just the morning!_ He'll be back around noon."

It's another strange difference that a year of marriage has not prepared her for. Dorea can't imagine the consequences she would face at her father's hand for dismissing a servant, even for a few hours. Charlus, however, just chuckles and pats the top of her head with a fond smile on his thin lips.

"Why am I not surprised?" he asks, pulling away and buttoning his shirt the rest of the way. "Well, there's only one solution."

She raises her brows, curious. "And what's that?"

Charlus wraps his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to her nose. "There's that little cafe down the street," he tells her. "You enjoyed their waffles the last time we went."

"I did," Dorea agrees, resting her head against his chest.

"Tidy up. We'll enjoy a nice breakfast there."

She pouts slightly, looking up at him with her dark eyes. "I wanted to do something nice," she says.

"Instead, I get to treat you." Charlus pulls back, grinning as he dismisses her with a quick wave of his hand. "Run along, dear. I would like to eat before I leave for work."

Dorea can't fight the smile as she hurries upstairs, peeling away the violet satin and setting it aside to be washed. As she finds another blouse to wear, she can't help but think of how lucky she is to have Charlus in her life.


	59. Burst

_Women's History task 8: Write about someone being the first to do something._

 _Word Count: 652_

* * *

No one can stop her. Hesper keeps her head high and her back straight as she approaches her father's office. For a moment she hesitates outside the polished oak door, her heart racing in her chest.

She isn't supposed to be here, especially not when Father is giving Licorus his magic lessons. Of course, that's the very reason she wants to interrupt. Why should her twin get to learn? It's hardly fair that Licorus receives special treatment just because he's a boy!

Somehow, Hesper finds her courage. She takes a deep breath before slamming her tiny fists repeatedly against the door. When her father opens the door, his usually pale face turns a wicked shade of red when he sees his daughter. "You should be studying piano," he says sharply, dark eyes narrowing. "Go! _Now!_ "

But Hesper doesn't move. Most seven year olds would gladly run away from his cruel glare, but she refuses. "I want magic lessons too!" she insists, anxiously twirling her dark curls around her finger. "It isn't fair!"

Her father's nostrils flare. He moves forward, his heavy footfall poorly muffled by the rug. "What good would it do you, little girl?" he asks nastily. "When you're of age, you'll learn domestic magic. You'll become the perfect little wife for a man from a good family. Licorus, on the other hand—"

"I don't care!" she interrupts, stomping her foot. "And I won't be a wife! I won't!"

She sees his hand draw back, and fear makes her blood run cold. Hesper is all too familiar with the damage her father can do. More than once, he's left her small body bruised and badly marked.

There isn't time to dodge. Even Licorus' cry of, "Father, don't hurt her!" cannot save her. All Hesper can do is close her eyes, brace herself and hope he doesn't leave a mark.

The blow never comes. Hesper feels something stir within her, and a warmth seems to radiate from her body. When she hears her father screams, she opens her eyes to find him clutching his arm. The pale skin is stained with angry red splotches.

"You bitch!" he yells. "You useless little whore!"

Before Hesper can respond, Licorus comes between them. Hesper relaxes slightly. Licorus is their father's favorite, and if anyone can calm the patriarch's anger, it will be him. "I shall get her out of your sight, Father," he says.

"See to it that you do," their father answers, her tone sharp, eyes glaring daggers into Hesper.

Licorus wraps his slender fingers around Hesper's wrist and guides her out. His dark eyes flicker to her, lips pursing as he studies her.

"What happened, Cor?" Hesper asks.

Her twin lets out an impressed whistle, shaking his head. "I always thought it would be me," he admits. "I mean… Father has been trying to make it happen?"

"You thought what would be you?" she asks as they come to a stop outside her bedroom door.

"I thought I would be the first to show signs of magic." There's no denying the hint of jealousy behind his smile. "Looks like it was you."

She doesn't even have a chance to ask him more questions. Her brother opens the door and pushes her inside, warning her not to come out until Father says she can. Then the door closes between them, and Licorus is gone.

Hesper sits on her bed, trying to process this information. She's done magic. Even though their father has put so much energy into her brother, Hesper is the first.

A grin tugs at her thin lips. Because of her sex, she will not be praised; she's almost certain her father will be by later to punish her for stealing her brother's glory. Still, even if it will not be acknowledged, for one shining moment she had been special.

She is the first, and nothing can take that away from her.


	60. A Family Reclaimed

_Speed Drabble: the beach_

 _Character Appreciation: sisters_

 _Disney, Bare Necessities: set on or near the water_

 _Days, Evaluate Your Life Day: Write about someone making a big change in their life_

 _Autumn: windy_

 _Color: burnt orange_

 _Elemental: flutter_

 _Word Count: 578_

* * *

Narcissa takes a deep breath before stepping onto the warm, white sand. She knows she shouldn't be nervous—whatever she and Andromeda have gone through over the years, they are still sisters, and nothing can take that away from them— but her heartbeat seems to quicken. Since the final battle, Narcissa has had a lot of time to think, and she's decided she's tired of letting the past define the present. She wants to let go of everything and make things right.

"Cissa?"

She looks up, smiling to herself when she sees her older sister. The wind whips Andromeda's chestnut curls against her face, but she returns the smile. It's the faintest flutter of hope. Narcissa had been so afraid that Andromeda wouldn't show up, that they wouldn't find a way to patch their relationship.

Her eyes focus on the small bundle in her sister's arms. The baby boy's hair is a strange shade of burnt orange, and he smiles up at Narcissa, blowing little spit bubbles. "This must be Teddy," she says. "He looks very much like you."

She tries to ignore the guilt that twists her insides. Andromeda has lost so much in the war, and Narcissa can't help but blame herself. She had allowed Lucius to manipulate her. How many times had she shared a meal with the people who have ruined her sister's life?

"I was surprised to hear from you," Andromeda says as she walks along the beach. Narcissa follows behind her. "I almost didn't come."

Narcissa's lips twitch. She can't bring herself to smile, so she just nods as the waves crash against the shore and lap at her bare feet. It hurts to know Andromeda would have willingly turned her back on her, but Narcissa knows she would deserve it. After all, she hasn't done anything to deserve her older sister's trust. She's spent years blind and willingly going along with Lucius and Bellatrix's agenda. At any point, she could have run, but she hadn't.

"Why did you come?" Narcissa asks.

For several moments, Andromeda doesn't speak. They walk along in silence that's only interrupted by the rush of the sea or the cries of the gulls. "I lost damn near everything," she says at last, exhaling deeply. "Not many people have a chance to reclaim something in the aftermath of the war. If I'm given that opportunity, I would be a fool to refuse."

"I never wanted you to get hurt," Narcissa says. "When I heard about Ted…"

She winces. Narcissa had never cared for her brother-in-law. Though she'd had plenty of chances to get to know him at Hogwarts, she had followed Bellatrix's lead and hurled insults at him. But she never hated him; she never meant it.

Narcissa clears her throat. "I wanted to reach out to you, but I was afraid," she explains. "And you seemed to have gone into hiding."

Andromeda nods. "Didn't have much of a choice," she says, and there's no denying the bitterness in her tone.

"I'm sorry."

Silence hangs between the sisters once again, but it doesn't feel as tense now. Andromeda turns to her, smiling softly. "Would you like to hold him?" she asks, nodding toward the baby in her arms.

"Please."

They've both lost so much during the war. But as they walk along the beach together, and Narcissa laughs and makes silly faces at her great-nephew, she thinks that maybe there's something to gain, that maybe their family can grow.


	61. Dead Man Walking

_Prompts at the end._

 _Word Count: 594_

* * *

Regulus welcomes the sweet burn in his throat as he down the honey-colored alcohol. The world is falling apart, and he is broken. "Fuck it," he says to himself. "We're going to die anyway."

He doesn't know exactly when things changed. It seems like only yesterday he knew what he was doing. When had he become disillusioned? When had the Dark Mark on his arm become a thing of shame rather than a sign of purpose?

Hating himself and everything else, he orders another glass. Tom hesitates but doesn't seem to want to lose money. He sends Regulus his sixth glass of the night.

"You look miserable."

Regulus glances up when he hears that familiar voice. Barty is blurry in his vision, but he is there, and Regulus almost smiles.

"I think this life is punishment for something I did in my last life," Regulus murmurs, more to himself than to Barty, as he lifts the white napkin and waves it. "I surrender."

"You're drunk," Barty says dryly.

"Don't act so surprised. Not everyone can be the golden boy like you. You're no angel, Barty, but you're still so bloody perfect, aren't you?"

Barty doesn't say anything to that. In the back of his mind, Regulus wonders if he's struck a nerve. It doesn't matter anyway. He isn't exactly the hero of this story. Why shouldn't he embrace his role and become the villain?

The other man slides into the booth across from him and reaches out, gently taking Regulus' hand. "What's really bothering you?"

Regulus laughs, the sound dry and bitter. Where does he even begin? His life has become some twisted, warped thing that is stranger than fiction. He had been a fool for joining the Dark Lord. Now, it's too late.

But how can he tell Barty that? Barty isn't like Regulus; his mind is free and clear, and he isn't weighed down by guilt and regret.

"I'm losing my mind," Regulus answers.

It's all he can really say. If he bares his soul and talks about his doubts and fears, he is as good as dead. It doesn't matter how precious Regulus may be to Barty. At the end of the day, Barty's loyalty lies with their master.

Regulus shakes his head. He's tired of feeling like this, tired of pretending he doesn't see the corruption around him. The world is on fire, and it's only a matter of time before he breaks completely. With a groan, he downs the last of his alcohol, relishing the burn.

He knows what he has to do, and he is scared to death. Defying the Dark Lord means death; there is no way around it. Still, he has to. If he doesn't…

"It's okay to not be okay," Barty says softly. "I can't pretend to know what you're going through, but—"

"It's okay. I'll be fine."

He can't keep trying to defend the Dark Lord. He is terrified, but there's no other choice. Maybe this is his destiny, his purpose.

A laugh bubbles from his throat. He had become a Death Eater in hopes of making a difference. This isn't what he'd had in mind when he'd taken the Mark, but he finally has a path to follow.

Regulus slams the glass on the table so hard he's surprised it doesn't break. "I should go."

"Maybe you should talk to someone," Barty says with a gasp as Regulus wobbles to his feet.

"No one can help me, mate."

He's a dead man walking, but that's okay. Maybe he can finally become something worthwhile.

* * *

 _Character Appreciation: defend_

 _Disney, Sally: Write about someone falling apart_

 _Book Club, Harrison: hero, fiction, a pub_

 _Showtime, Cloud Serenade: fool_

 _Amber's Attic, Carrie: punishment_

 _Count Your Buttons: Barty Jr._

 _Lyric Alley: What the hell am I doing here?_

 _Sophie's Shelf, Buffalo Bill: precious_

 _Emporium: "You're no angel, [Name]."_

 _Boyfriend Checklist: Black family member_

 _Gris-Gris: Broken_

 _Days, Have a Bad Day Day: "It's okay to not be okay."_

 _Autumn: break_

 _Color: honey_

 _Birthstones, Blue Zircon: "Fuck it. We're going to die anyway."_

 _Flowers, goldenrod: golden boy/girl_

 _Elemental: gasp_

 _Costume Party, Marie Antoinette wig and unicorn horn: Leaky Cauldron and white_


	62. Paper Flowers

_Gobstones, green stone: flowers, outside, "I don't want it."_

 _Pizza, chicken: happy_

 _Gris-Gris: Marius Black_

 _Crafty Corner, Disney Princess: kidfic_

 _Book Club, Aunty Siddra: candy, sick, worried_

 _Showtime, Fair Game: "Let's make a vow."_

 _Amber's Attic, The Omen: kidfic_

 _Lyric Alley: Whatever you want_

 _Lowdown, Dean Winchester: Write about an older sibling_

 _Costume Party: delicate, scissors_

 _Word Count: 529_

* * *

"I don't want it!" Marius hears his little sister cry from down the hall. "I want to go outside!"

"Miss Dorea must be drinking her potion," Penny the house-elf insists. "You is to sick."

"I don't want it!"

Marius hates hearing Dorea cry and scream. Thin lips pursing, he sets his book aside and climbs out of his chair, walking down the hallway. Somehow, their parents haven't come to investigate Dorea's crying yet, but it's only a matter of time. Father doesn't like noise when he's working, and Marius is afraid he might try to hurt Dorea.

"I've got her, Penny," Marius says, pushing the door open.

The house-elf fixes her bulging eyes on Marius before bowing. "Master Marius does not need to be worrying. Penny can look after Miss Dorea."

Marius offers her a bright smile. "I know you can," he assures her. "But I think she needs me right now."

Penny considers for a moment. With a nod, she hands Marius the potion vial. "Master Marius is such a good brother," she says fondly patting his cheek. "Always looking after Miss Dorea."

When the house-elf disappears, the nine year old makes his way to Dorea's bed. Her pale cheeks are flushed red, and sweat beads her forehead. It's easy for him to worry. She is usually such a loud and bold six year old, but now her illness makes her look so delicate.

"I don't want the potion," she sniffs.

Marius fishes in his pocket, pulling out a honey-flavored candy with a grin. "Really? If you take it, I'll give you this."

"I want to go outside," Dorea whines, but she sits up, much more cooperative now.

"What's so great about outside?" Marius asks, carefully pressing the vial to her lips and tipping it forward.

For a moment, Dorea is silent as she drains the potion. Once it's gone, she leans back, wiping her mouth and making a face. Marius laughs and hands her the candy.

"I want to play in the flowers," Dorea says. "It isn't fair."

"Flowers, huh?" Marius asks.

With a grin, he opens his sister's drawer. A pair of ornate, silver scissors rest among the junk in there. He grips them before grabbing a bit of parchment and sitting at the foot of her bed.

"What are you doing, Mari?" she asks, sliding herself across the mattress and watching as Marius cuts the parchment carefully.

"You wanted flowers," he says, "so I'm giving you flowers."

It takes a few tries to get things just right. After playing around with it, he finally manages to the folds and cuts perfect, and the parchment forms a makeshift flower. Marius leans in, tucking the flower behind her ear before starting on another.

Dorea giggles, watching him with eager eyes. "How do you do that?" she asks.

"Magic," he says, winking.

Several minutes pass, and he fills her room with paper flowers. It isn't what she had wanted, and she still can't go outside, but Marius loves the way his little sister's expression brightens.

"Let's make a vow," he says. "Let's be best friends forever, okay?"

Dorea wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I promise."


	63. Finally Found

_Games and Sports, task 4: Write about looking for someone_

 _Amber's Attic, The Strangers: "Is [name] home?"_

 _Gris-Gris: Phoebe Black_

 _Word Count: 1222_

 _Note: As always, with Phoebe, I used she/her pronouns, though Phoebe is a trans man. This is in keeping with not only the time period but also his upbringing. It's highly unlikely he would have known he could easily change his name and pronouns._

* * *

"I have news for you."

Phoebe looks up when Moira enters their small seaside cottage. Her dark brows raise. "Oh?" she asks, pushing a hand through her short, messy hair. "What sort of news?"

Her girlfriend's expression remains completely serious, though a faint smile tugs at her plump lips. She sits across from Phoebe, reaching out and taking her hand. Phoebe pauses to marvel at the beauty of their hands together—her pale skin juxtaposed against Moira's dark tan.

"I found him."

Phoebe doesn't even have to ask. She leans back, exhaling deeply. Her slender fingers graze nervously over her grey vest. "How?"

Moira grins, her dark eyes twinkling with pride. "You wanted it, and I made it happen," she says with a smirk. "I thought you would be happier."

Phoebe exhales deeply and rests her elbows on the table. She slumps forward, cradling her chin against her palms. Even though she _is_ happy, it's so easy to feel overwhelmed. Ever since their mother threw Eduardus out, she has been searching for her brother. For twelve years, she has been met with dead end after dead end.

Now, it's possible for her to see her beloved Eduardus again, and she's terrified.

"Phoebe?" Moira climbs to her feet and moves closer, wrapping her slender arms around Phoebe. She rests her head on Phoebe's shoulder, her wild curls tickling Phoebe's skin. "Talk to me, my love."

But Phoebe doesn't know what to say. Her mind races, and it's nothing but a blur of emotions she cannot give voice to. Her thin lips quirk into what she hopes is a reassuring smile as she pulls away, affectionately cupping Moira's face between her hands. "Tell me I'm going to be okay," she says quietly.

Moira smiles. "You're going to be fine."

Phoebe isn't so sure. Will Eduardus want to see her? Will he accept her as his brother, or will he shun her?

"I'm afraid," Phoebe admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There's no need to be."

Moira's gentle reassurances do little to calm her nerves, but Phoebe nods. She will have to be strong now.

…

The Muggle village's streets are covered in a thin layer of snow. Shivering, Phoebe pulls her coat more tightly around her slender body.

The houses all look the same. Each is dusted with snow, and the insides glow with warmth. Phoebe glances in each, dark eyes searching through the windows, hoping to recognize Eduardus' kind face.

"Looking for someone, sir?" a young boy calls. "My father says that's the only reason strangers come here."

Phoebe smiles, nodding. "Eduardus Black," she says. "Do you know him?"

The boy rubs a dirty hand over his pale face, leaving a black streak across his skin. "House at the end of the row," he says, pointing eagerly. "Mr. Eduardus makes the best bread!"

"I'm sure he does."

Phoebe stares in the direction the boy had pointed. A chill grips her body, and she knows it has nothing to do with the cold. She's come so far, and her brother is closer than he's ever been now. All she has to do is walk.

She seems to be frozen in place. Fear makes her blood run cold, and her heart begins to beat frantically.

"You okay, mister?" the boy asks.

For several moments, Phoebe forgets how to speak. She swallows dryly, managing a small nod. "Just fine." Her lips form a shaky, nervous smile. "Thank you."

Phoebe doesn't even make a conscious decision. Her legs seem to carry her forward. In that moment, she decides there's no turning back now.

…

She hesitates outside the house, her hand raised and prepared to knock. Suddenly, she seems unable to continue. With a heavy sigh, Phoebe closes her eyes and drops her hand again. She's come all this way; Eduardus is so close, but it doesn't matter. Her fear is too great.

The door opens, and a young woman stands before her, offering Phoebe a confused smile. "Can I help you?"

"Is Eduardus home?" Phoebe clears her throat before repeating the question louder.

The woman's lips twitch, and her crystal green eyes narrow. "How do you know my husband?" she asks.

 _Husband._ Phoebe wonders if this woman knows the truth about magic, if that's why she suddenly seems so suspicious of Phoebe.

"I'm his brother," Phoebe explains. "Licorus."

The woman's face softens, and she nods. "He sent word to your family, then? I told him he needed to before it was too late," she says. "Come in. Lovely to finally meet you. I'm Ruth."

Phoebe doesn't understand what Ruth means. _Before it was too late_. It sounds ominous, and she shivers and the thought.

Ruth leads her along. Phoebe wonders if she can still run away, but she can't bring herself to do it. Ruth opens a door and steps inside. "Eduardus, my love," she says, "Licorus is here to see you."

Phoebe barely recognizes the man in the bed. He is thin and frail, nearly skeletal. His once sleek, black is thinking and unkempt, and his dark eyes are glassy. Though he is little more than a stranger to her now, he clearly recognizes her.

"Leave us," he says, his voice thin and cracking.

Ruth nods and turns, offering Phoebe a smile before hurrying out.

"Phoebe," Eduardus says, chapped lips tugging into a smile. "I must say, when I dreamt of being reunited with my sister, I didn't expect you be dressed like a boy."

"I'm not your sister," she tells him. "I'm your brother."

Eduardus sits up, wincing. The movement seems to leave him winded, and he slumps forward, breathing heavily. "Mother must have had a heart attack when she found out," he chuckles, glancing up at her.

"She and Father locked me away when they realized I didn't fit into their perfect little plan for the family," she confirms, relaxing slightly and moving closer. She sits beside him. "I guess we have that in common."

It's like no time has passed at all. Eduardus has always been the easiest to talk to. As much as Phoebe loves her other siblings, Eduardus always had a special place in her heart.

"Are you unwell?" she asks, though it's a ridiculous question, and the answer is obvious.

"Dying," her brother confirms, with a bitter smile. "Not long left."

Phoebe feels her heart sink. Tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them away, refusing to give into her sadness. "I'm sorry," she whispers. She clears her throat, nervously raking her fingers through her hair. "I wish I had found you again sooner."

Life is cruel. How many years have been spent, searching for him, missing him more than anything? It's all been for nothing. Her brother is fading away.

Eduardus reaches out and takes her hand. She startles, unprepared for how icy his skin feels against hers. His thumb brushes lightly over her knuckles. "The important thing is that you found me at all," he tells her before leaning back and sinking into his pillows, a content smile on his lips. "I can go to my grave knowing that my brother loved me."

"More than anything," Phoebe confirms before stretching out and laying beside him like she would do when they were children. "Tell me about Ruth."

"Only if you tell me about Moira."

Phoebe grins. "Deal."


	64. Loss

_Ghost Hunting, task 4: Write about someone terminating or losing a pregnancy_

 _Amber's Attic, Silence of the Lambs: liver_

 _Gris-Gris: scarlet_

 _Word Count: 1038_

* * *

 _Warning: miscarriage_

* * *

Belvina trembles when her husband stands before her. As much as she loves him, Herbert is a dangerous man, and it's hard not to fear him. His dark eyes narrow as he folds his arms over his chest.

"Well?" he asks, tapping his foot impatiently.

Each _thud_ of his footfalls makes Belvina jump slightly. She swallows dryly. Will he be as happy as she is about the news?

"I am with child," she whispers.

Her body grows tense as she waits for the fallout that is sure to come. But it doesn't. Instead, Herbert's thin lips tug into a toothy grin. He closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around her, cupping her face with his hands.

"Splendid news!" he says excitedly, kissing her gently. "I will have my heir!"

…

"Mistress Belvina must be eating the liver," Starry insists, wide eyes wild as she looks around the room. "Master Herbert said so. He said it will help the baby growing in Mistress Belvina's body."

Belvina lifts her fork, poking the brown blob on her plate. Judging by the blood that drips from it and pools around it, she's certain it isn't even cooked. Herbert's mother has bombarded them with little secrets and remedies to aid in her pregnancy, but the old bat is insane if she think Belvina is going to eat raw organs.

"I would like my fruit instead," she says.

The house-elf shakes her head with a frightened squeal. "But Master Herbert—"

"My fruit," Belvina repeats, her tone sharp and dangerous. "Now."

When Starry remains, Belvina rises, lifting her hand. The house-elf whimpers as Belvina strikes her, but Belvina doesn't care. Her palm connects with the house-elf's jaw, then her temples.

"You will listen when I give you an order, you filthy, pathetic little thing!"

She doesn't stop until the house-elf is curled up on the floor, her skin splotched with red. For good measure, Belvina grabs the plate of liver and drops it, watching the white-and-blue patterned porcelain shatter, and the blood from the liver splatter all over Starry.

…

Belvina stands before the mirror, admiring her naked body. She knows the baby is too small to change her appearance, but she still insists that she can see her flat stomach curving outward, forming a bump.

"That house-elf is a nightmare," she says, pulling her dark curls back and holding them against her head as she examines her features. "Refusing to follow orders, talking back… We have no use for such an insubordinate thing."

Herbert appears behind her. He trails a long, thin finger over her slender shoulder. "You are pregnant, Bel," he reminds her. "Now is hardly the time to replace her. You carry the Burke heir within you, and he must be cared for."

Belvina's plump lips form a pout, and she huffs, letting her curls cascade down her back so that she can fold her arms over her chest. It isn't fair that Herbert is right. With a sigh, she turns around, resting her head against his chest. "She'll be gone soon after our son is born," she says.

Herbert laughs, kissing her forehead. "Of course."

…

"Starry is sorry Mistress Belvina does not be feeling well," the house-elf says, carefully setting the tray down and preparing Belvina's tea.

Belvina scowls. She wants to yell at the stupid thing, but she is too exhausted. For the past several hours, she's been unable to do anything other than throw up, shiver, and cry. She's heard stories of morning sickness, but this feels like torture.

Still scowling, dark eyes glaring at Starry, Belvina accepts her cup, swirling the milky liquid and inhaling the the warm, soothing aroma. She lifts the cup to her lips, sipping. The tea calms her stomach almost instantly.

"Starry added something so that Mistress Belvina can be sleeping," Starry says. "Little bit of chamomile should be making Mistress Belvina relax."

And it does. Belvina feels her eyes grow heavy. She sets the teacup on the bedside table and lets sleep take her.

…

The stomach pains wake her. Belvina sits upright, screaming as the cramps twist her insides. Tears sting her eyes, and she doesn't bother to wipe them away.

When she tries to sit up, she notices the wetness. Confused, she looks down, and she screams when she sees scarlet spreading across her white nightgown.

"Herbert!" she screams. "Herbert!"

…

"My baby," she whispers.

She hates the way the Healers look at her with pity in their eyes. Do they know what it's like to get this news? Her baby is gone. All the time she has spent dreaming about her beautiful child has been for nothing.

Herbert squeezes her hand gently. "I know, Bel," he says. "I know."

"The house-elf did it."

"Now, Bel—"

She shakes her head, her dark hair thumping against her face with the desperate moment. "No. She said it herself," Belvina insists, wringing her hands together. "She put something in my tea."

Her husband's brows raise, and his jaw drops slightly. For several seconds, he just stares at her, seemingly at a loss for words. He holds his head high, offering her a curt nod. "She will be dealt with when we return home. Mark my words."

…

Belvina lays in bed, resting a hand on her stomach as she listens to the chaos downstairs.

"Master Herbert, Starry is swearing she didn't hurt Mistress Belvina! She is swearing!"

"Filthy liar! _Crucio!_ "

She doesn't know how many curses her husband has used on the house-elf, but it isn't enough. No amount of suffering will change what the beast has done. Her baby will never come back to her.

"I'm sorry, my sweet child," she murmurs, gently caressing her stomach with her fingertips. "I was looking forward to meeting you. You would have been a fine, strong young man."

"Starry is innocent, Master Herbert!"

Belvina listens as the sounds change. Herbert seems to have grown tired of cursing her, because now she hears the unmistakable sound of something heavy striking flesh. The house-elf's screams fill the air.

It will not fix anything, but Belvina doesn't care. As she lays back, still rubbing her stomach, she smiles. At least she can have some closure.


	65. No Worries

_Character Appreciation: long hair_

 _Lizzy's Loft, Vlogbrothers: brothers_

 _Book Club, Seven: siblings, Slytherin, eye rolling_

 _Showtime, Sunrise Sunset: "Wasn't it yesterday?"_

 _Amber's Attic, St. Elmo's Fire: Write about someone worrying about the future_

 _Count Your Buttons: Sirius Black_

 _Lyric Alley: Don't tell me what to do._

 _Lowdown: "Do I look capable of making healthy life choices?"_

 _Marauder Map: Sirius, sunny_

 _Fantastic Beasts, fairy in Angola: dust, no characters over 24_

 _Around the Board, quidditch pitch: known Quidditch player_

 _Word Count: 606_

* * *

Sirius is surprised when his bedroom door opens. His parents almost never check in on him; they usually prefer to have Kreacher pop in at random moments and scare him half to death. But it isn't a cranky, old house-elf that stands in his doorway now.

Regulus clears his throat, looking awkwardly around. Sirius watches him, curious.

"It's a nice day out," Regulus says, swiping his finger over a thin layer of dust that coats the wall. His nose wrinkles in distaste. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

Sirius pushes a hand through his long hair, ruffling the dark strands. He and his brother are hardly close. Since Regulus was Sorted into Slytherin, following their family's tradition in the end, the rift between them only seems to have widened.

Still, he thinks that maybe some fresh air will do him good. He's spent the past month plotting his escape, maddened by these four walls.

"Sounds good to me."

…

Regulus is right. The weather is gorgeously sunny, and a warm breeze tickles Sirius' skin.

"Remember when we were kids?" Regulus asks, breaking a long silence between them.

"Wasn't it yesterday?" Sirius counters, smirking when his younger brother rolls his eyes. "I remember. But you've gotta be more specific."

"We used to sneak out like this all the time. Go for walks."

Sirius grins at the memory. Their mother thought he was a terrible influence. If only she knew that Regulus usually came up with the ideas to sneak out. Of course, he would never tell her that. When it comes to his little brother, Sirius has always been more than willing to take the blame.

"Do I look capable of making healthy life choices?" Regulus asks.

Sirius is surprised by the sudden topic change. He scrubs his palm over the back of his neck, pondering the question. "Is this some sort of trick?"

Regulus comes to such an abrupt stop that Sirius almost crashes into him. For several moments, the younger boy just stares at the ground, feet shuffling nervously. There's a strange tension in Regulus' shoulders that Sirius finds completely heartbreaking.

"I'm scared," Regulus whispers, finally walking again, keeping his gaze away from Sirius. "With the war going on… You know what Mother wants me to do."

"Screw that," Sirius snorts. "She can't tell you what to do."

Regulus' lips quirk, but he doesn't look quite convinced. He veers off the pavement, leading Sirius through familiar iron gates. It's been years since they've been to this park, and Sirius feels a wave of nostalgia wash over him. All his worries seem to fade away, and time seems to move backwards until they're children again. Is that why Regulus wants to be here?

Regulus makes his way to the swingset, sitting on an empty seat. Sirius moves behind him, pulling the younger boy back.

"We're going to be okay, aren't we?" Regulus asks, extending his legs and gaining more height.

Sirius wishes he could reassure Regulus. In this moment, they're young and free. Their burdens are gone, and there is only hope and innocence.

But he cannot lie to Regulus. The future is ever changing, and nothing is promised.

Still, he can't bring himself to say this. Instead, he pushes Regulus again, trying to clear his own mind.

Maybe they won't be okay. Wars are terrible times, and nothing is promised for them. The world they know is sure to fall away, and Sirius can't even begin to guess what the new world will be like. But, for now, he can smile and enjoy these rare moments of happiness with his brother.

Nothing else matters.


	66. Duty Before Happiness

_Marauders Map: arranged marriage_

 _Word Count: 621_

* * *

"I don't love him," Narcissa says, because Rodolphus is the only one who will listen and understand.

Everyone else laughs when she says it. They tell her that marriage isn't about loving someone, that it's about duty. Her parents are married, and there is no love there; it is a fate so many pure-blood must endure.

But Rodolphus smiles a sad smile because he _knows_. He may have given Bellatrix a ring, but he doesn't love her. It's only out of duty.

"What will you do?" he asks, lightly tracing his fingertips over her arm.

Narcissa looks at him. She knows exactly what she _wants_ to do. Rodolphus has had her heart for as long as she remembers. If she had her way, she would forsake this arranged marriage and run away with him.

She knows it isn't an option, though. As lovely as it sounds, it can never be. At the end of the day, she is not as brave as Andromeda. Her older sister had thrown her family away for the sake of love. Can Narcissa do that? Perhaps, but she will never find out. Fear keeps her here, forever pondering _what if._

"I don't have a choice," she says quietly. "I will marry Lucius, and you will marry my sister."

They will never meet like this again, and that knowledge breaks her heart. Rodolphus has always been her safe place, the one constant in her life. The thought of having to let go of him, to learn to live a life without her best friend and lover is too much.

"You'll make a beautiful bride," he whispers, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "I'm just sorry you can't be mine."

…

Narcissa stands before the mirror as her mother braids white flowers through her hair. "You don't like Lucius very much," she notes.

"It isn't my place to like him," her mother answers, and there's something dark and cold in her words. "If your father feels that the Blacks and Malfoys should come together, it must be right."

Narcissa wants to protest, but she doesn't. She is a good, submissive pure-blood. Just as she has to follow the tradition of an arranged marriage, she must remain silent. Men don't like women who have strong opinions. She has to know her place.

"Are you happy?" she asks instead.

Her mother offers her a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I am happy for you."

Narcissa lets the subject drop. There's no escaping her fate. The least she can do is smile through it.

…

Lucius Malfoy will never appreciate her. Narcissa knows this the moment he sees her walking down the aisle. There's a smirk on his thin lips, as though he's silently gloating about some prize that he has one.

It isn't fair. Narcissa wants, more than anything, to marry someone who will love her the way she wants to be loved. As she passes Rodolphus, she feels a sharp pain in her chest.

She knows what it's like to be loved, but she will never have that in her life again. Her duty to her family comes before her own happiness.

Narcissa trembles as she stands before Lucius.

"Smile, Cissy," he says, reaching out and caressing her cheek.

She tries. She really does try. But it feels so stiff, so forced, and there are tears in her eyes. Brides aren't supposed to cry like this when they get married.

Vows are exchanged, and she loses herself. She is no longer a Black who dreams of love and happiness.

As the silver ring is placed upon her finger and Lucius' lips meet hers, she becomes a Malfoy, and there is nothing she can do it about it.


	67. Followed Paths

_1000 Prompts: first day of school_

 _Cheese Board, ham: Hogsmeade station_

 _365: headache_

 _Showtime, Beautiful: first day of school_

 _Liza's Loves: Regulus Black_

 _Arcade, Batman: Regulus Black_

 _Around the World, silver belt: keeping it together_

 _Word Count: 360_

* * *

Regulus takes a deep breath. He really shouldn't be nervous; people start Hogwarts and get Sorted all the time. There's no reason for him to feel the sudden wave of cold nausea as the train slows to a stop at Hogsmeade Station, but he's barely keeping it together.

He's always dreamt of Hogwarts. As a child, he always imagined he would be a Slytherin–until Sirius went and got Sorted elsewhere, Regulus hadn't even been aware of other Houses–and go on to do amazing things.

Now, he isn't so sure. Sirius isn't a Slytherin. What if Regulus accidentally follows in his footsteps and ends up in some terrible House? His parents will never forgive him, and Regulus isn't sure he'll be able to convince them that it isn't his fault, that he _wants_ to be a Slytherin.

"You coming?" Barty asks.

Regulus swallows dryly. His temples begin to throb, and he worries a headache might be on its way. "Yeah," he says, following behind his newly found friend.

He stands at the station, breathing in the fresh air. This is it. His moment of truth is quickly approaching, and he has never been more terrified.

"You excited?" Barty asks as they and the other first years are herded along.

Regulus offers him a shaky smile. "Thrilled."

All he can do is hope for the best.

…

The Sorting Hat falls, obscuring his vision, and Regulus can feel the threat of a headache still lingering around his skull. He wonders if anyone has ever puked during the Sorting.

 _Brilliant mind,_ a voice whispers in his head. _Ravenclaw would be good for you._

 _Please,_ Regulus thinks. _They'll kill me. Not Ravenclaw. Not anything. Only Slytherin._

 _Are you sure? Think of the things you can achieve with a little help from Ravenclaw,_ the voice insists.

 _Slytherin. Please. Just put me in Slytherin._

 _Very well. "SLYTHERIN!"_

Regulus feels sick and dizzy when the Sorting Hat is removed, but he keeps his composure. Head held high, he makes his way to the Slytherin table, but his gaze can't help shifting to the Ravenclaws. As he settles in, he can't help but wonder if he's missing out.


	68. Silly Faces

_Word Count: 412_

* * *

The bloody infant won't stop screaming, and Walburga thinks she might lose her mind. There's a reason Purebloods so rarely bother with raising their own children. How the hell is she supposed to make it stop, when she doesn't have any idea what she's doing? Her own mother allowed her to be tended to by a house-elf. Unfortunately, Orion is horribly reluctant to get a new one, and Kreacher Kreacher isn't particularly maternal.

"Sirius Orion," she says firmly, stamping her foot, "you are a Black, and you ought to behave like one! Is that understood?"

In response, the baby only whines more, the sound more urgent now. Walburga lets out a frustrated groan and begins to walk through Grimmauld Place and rock the infant in her arms. What is she supposed to? Her efforts to comfort her son are all in vain, and she's afraid she's going to lose her mind.

"Be a good boy, Sirius," she tells him, but her words seem to fall on deaf ears.

Walburga walks down the stairs. Kreacher spares her a brief glance before hurrying off and busying himself elsewhere. Walburga resists the urge to roll her eyes. By now, she knows not to ask the house-elf for assistance.

"Please stop crying," she says. "There is no sense in that at all! Do you want to be a ridiculous fool, boy?"

It doesn't help. Nothing seems to work.

Walburga hesitates and sighs. Druella had been strange with her children. She remembers Cygnus remarking that Druella would act in a silly manner not suited for a proper Pureblood, but that their daughters seemed to enjoy it.

She looks down at her son, brows raising. Is that really enough to distract him? Druella's girls have always been so lovely; she must have done something right.

"Fine. Look at me, boy. Look at Mother." She makes a face at him. "See how silly Mother can be?"

She feels ridiculous. No dignified woman should ever behave this way. Still, the whining stops. Sirius' face is red from his previous screaming, but he seems to forget about his distress. His pudgy hands reach out, and a giggle spills from his lips.

Walburga hates to admit it, but it's actually rather adorable. A small smile plays at her lips. "Do you like that, silly boy? Does it amuse you?"

Hope flutters through her body, as she puffs out her cheeks and makes a bizarre sound. Maybe motherhood isn't so bad after all.


	69. Stolen Moments

_For Ella._

 _Word Count: 1098_

* * *

i.

They are eight years old and hiding behind the flowering shrubs in the garden. Cygnus calls out for her, but Druella does not care. She curls a little closer to Walburga, as though she can protect her.

"My brother loves you, you know," Walburga says. "I heard father say there will be a union between the Blacks and the Rosiers."

Druella scowls at that. It doesn't matter that they are just children; she's heard her father say similar things. Still, she doesn't want to marry Cygnus or any other silly boy.

"I wish _we_ could marry," she says, thin, delicate fingers plucking a sweetly-perfumed yellow flower from the shrub and tucking it in Walburga's dark curls.

It's just a silly wish. They are girls, and they know their places. Try as they might to avoid it, they will have no choice but to find husbands. Druella doesn't doubt that she will be a Black one day. She only wishes she could marry the one she wants.

Walburga leans in presses a kiss to her cheek. "Maybe we can," she says.

Druella smiles and shakes her head. It doesn't hurt to dream, but they are just children. These little hopes and wishes won't change anything in the end.

"Found you!" Cygnus calls, leaping over the shrub and grinning in triumph. "What's my prize?"

"Your prize," Druella says, plucking another flower, "is turning around and leaving us alone."

Cygnus huffs, his pale cheeks flooding with heated color. "You'll be kinder to me when we're married," he says, turning on his heel and storming off.

Druella sighs and leans back, resting her head on Walburga's shoulder. "No offense," she says quietly, "but I really hate your brother."

ii.

They're eleven years old, and it's storming. Druella trembles and squeezes her eyes shut. Each roll of thunder makes her feel like she's about to come out of her skin, and she can't help but whimper.

Ordinarily, she might be embarrassed, but it's late, and her roommates are all asleep. No one will hear her; no one will know.

"Move over."

"What are you doing awake?" Druella hisses when Walburga pulls back the curtain that surrounds her bed.

"How is anyone supposed to sleep with you screaming over the weather?" the other girl counters.

Druella blushes. She rubs her cheeks as though that's enough to make the sudden heat go away. "I wasn't _screaming_ ," she says, but she moves over.

Walburga climbs into bed beside her and wraps her arms around Druella. The touch makes Druella's heart race, and her body tingles. This isn't proper. She remembers those stolen moments in their childhood, when they talk about love and marriage, but they had been children; it hadn't meant anything.

But she cannot shake the way Walburga makes her feel now. Those wishes aren't just silly hopes and dreams anymore.

"Something wrong?" Walburga whispers, her warm breath washing over the back of Druella's neck.

"People will talk if they catch us," Druella says, her voice shaking.

Walburga laughs softly. "Let them."

Druella rolls onto her other side so she can look at Walburga. The response has surprised her. Walburga has always been the type to worry about appearances and perfection. Would she really not care if someone began to whisper about them?

"Go to sleep, Dru," Walburga says before pressing a chaste kiss to Druella's lips.

Druella doesn't question it. She just smiles and curls closer.

iii.

They're fifteen and locked away in Druella's room. They're meant to be studying, but Walburga makes it quite difficult to focus.

"You're boring," Walburga murmurs, trailing kisses along Druella's neck and up to her jaw. "Entertain me."

Druella groans and closes her eyes. "I have to study," she says.

Really, it isn't fair. What gives Walburga the right to make her mind race like this? She opens her eyes again to glare at Walburga, but the other girl's face is inches from her own. Their lips meet, and Druella feels butterflies fluttering within her stomach.

"We really need to stop doing this," Druella says quietly before kissing Walburga again.

She knows it isn't supposed to be like this. They both come from good, pure families and know the expectations placed upon them.

"I'll stop," Walburga says, running her fingers through Druella's white-blonde hair. "All you have to do is ask. You know I would do anything for you."

It could all end right here and now. Druella has the power to make things right, to follow along and be the good girl she's meant to be. Somehow she can't bring herself to care. This secret, forbidden love affair has consumed her. All that matters is that Walburga is hers, and she is Walburga's.

"Well?" Walburga presses, ghosting her fingers teasingly down Druella's back.

Druella wraps her arms around the other girl, holding her close. "I could never. I love you too much."

iv.

They're eighteen and Druella is completely miserable. She's always known she wouldn't be able to escape her fate. Cygnus has always been in her future.

Walburga lays beside her, resting her head on Druella's shoulder. "It doesn't have to end, does it?"

Druella knows she should say yes. They've had a good run, and Walburga has helped her build so many beautiful memories. That should be enough, and she should be satisfied. This chapter in her life has to close in order for the next one to begin.

She shakes her head. "I don't want it to."

She's spent so many years keeping this secret. Why should she give it up now?

Walburga leans in, kissing her gently. Cygnus will never make her feel the way that Walburga does. It's only natural that she should want to cling to the ecstasy that Walburga provides.

"I love you," Walburga says.

Druella smiles to herself. "I love you too."

v.

They're twenty-eight, and they've both built lives of their own. Both have husbands and children, and that should be enough.

It isn't. Druella isn't sure that it could ever be.

"I've missed you," Walburga says, embracing her.

Druella rests her head against her lover's chest, breathing in her sweet perfume. "I've missed you too."

These are the moments she lives for. Druella plays her part so well and pretends to be the perfect wife and mother. But this is what keeps her going. When she's in Waburga's arms, the stress of life and family and everything else seems to melt away.

One day, she will have to let go. For now, she will hold on and enjoy these stolen moments as long as she can.


	70. A Matter of Time

_Folklore, task 8: Write about saving or protecting a sibling_

 _Word Count: 741_

* * *

Phineas Nigellus isn't happy when the Auror approaches him at the Hog's Head. He leans back in his chair, his cold, grey eyes sweeping over the young man. "MacMillan, isn't it?" he asks before lifting his glass and absently swirling the amber contents within.

"Yes, Professor Black," the Auror says brightly, his pale cheeks flushing a deep red. He runs his trembling fingers through his short, dark hair. "Didn't think you'd remember me."

Phineas snorts. How could he forget? The pest had been such an annoying child. MacMillan had seemed to think that tattling would earn him some sort of reward. It's no wonder he ended up going into law enforcement. "What can I help you with?"

The young wizard's demeanor changes in an instant. He clears his throat and awkwardly shifts his weight from foot to foot. Phineas huffs and leans forward, tapping his fingers impatiently against the battered mahogany table.

"It's about your sister," MacMillan says at last.

"Iola?" He hasn't thought about her much in the six years since she'd been disowned, and he wonders why anyone would ask him about her now.

"No, sir. Elladora."

Phineas swallows dryly. He forces himself to remain calm. This isn't the first time Elladora has gotten into some legal trouble, and he doubts it will be the last time. In the past, he's always managed to save the day and keep her safe, but he doesn't know how much longer this will last. Her crimes seem to escalate, and it's only a matter of time before there's no saving her.

Still, he will do what he can for as long as he can.

He takes a sip of his liquor, relishing the subtle burn as it goes down. "Still harassing the poor girl, then? Haven't you got anything better to do?"

"I-I'm sorry. It's standard procedure," MacMillan stammers, his blush darkening further. He continues to twitch and fidget, and Phineas tries not to laugh. At least he has enough sense to be nervous around Phineas. "I just… just need to ask you a few questions about Friday night."

Friday night. Phineas bites back a groan. Elladora had appeared in the parlor with fresh blood stains splattered across her dress. Phineas had suspected something horrible had happened, but she had just laughed it off and insisted it had been a horrible incident with her newest house-elf.

"I don't see why you bother," Phineas says, shaking his head. He keeps his tone icy and sharp. "These so-called investigations are the greatest waste of time. Elladora was with me on Friday night, tending to my pregnant wife."

MacMillan nods and adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Yes, well, is there any chance that she might have slipped off without–"

Phineas interrupts him by slamming his glass roughly against the table. He climbs to his feet and stands straight and tall so that he towers over the Auror. "My sister was at my home, tending to my pregnant wife all night," he says, reaching out and prodding a thin finger into MacMillan's chest. "Be smart and remember who I am, who _my family_ is. The gold in your pocket? You can thank the Blacks for most of it. Now, run along, file your report, and leave my sister alone. Is that understood?"

"Y-yes." MacMillan drops his gaze and clears his throat. "Right away."

The Auror turns to leave, but Phineas catches him by the arm. "Tell me, what is it that you suspect Elladora of doing?"

"There was a family of Muggles, just outside Manchester," MacMillan says. "Tortured, massacred. Mother and father, plus two little girls who won't even make it to their teens because of this monster. Muggle authorities are baffled, but I know dark magic when I see it."

Phineas' blood runs cold at that. Somehow, he manages to remain calm and collected. "How dreadful. I do hope you find the culprit."

Once he's alone again, Phineas slumps into his seat and orders another drink. He rakes his fingers through his thinning black hair and sighs heavily. "Elladora, you twisted bitch," he mutters under his breath. "What have you done?"

He cannot protect her forever. One day, Elladora will be too far gone for him to save her. He had hoped that day would be in the distant future, but it looks like it will be here sooner than expected.

He only hopes that the family will be ready when that day comes.


	71. Not Lonely

_For Auction: Regulus I (not Sirius' brother)_

 _Word Count:_ 473

* * *

Regulus is luckier than most. He thinks of his parents and other relatives who are stuck in loveless marriages for the sake of purity. What's the point of it? How can anyone truly be satisfied with knowing it's unlikely they'll ever know what love feels like?

But not him.

Vivian Nott smiles at him, golden-brown eyes sparkling as he takes her hand. Regulus has seen many betrothal announcements, but none have ever been so joyous.

He has loved her since childhood, and it still feels like something of a miracle that their parents have arranged for their union.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," he says.

Regulus wants nothing more than to hold her close and kiss her, but he knows better. They may be intimately familiar with each other in private, but their families are watching. Such behavior would be seen as a disgrace on their houses.

Instead, he gives her hand a small squeeze. He smiles so brightly that he thinks his face might split in two.

He will be the happiest man in the world before the year is over.

…

It happens so suddenly. One day he is following Vivian around, discussing the perfect everything for their wedding. What flowers do they need? Should she wear her mother's gown? Will their be a celebration after?

And then he is standing over her body, trembling. The accident is still fresh, and her body is covered with burn marks and soot. The others talk about how it's a risk they're all aware of, like that can somehow make everything better. It doesn't. Vivian is gone, and they're meant to be married in only two months.

Regulus drops to his knees, pulling her lifeless body closer. "Viv," he whispers. "Wake up, Viv. Come on."

But her eyes do not open, and he knows they will never open again.

…

"We will find you a new bride," his father says, as though Regulus has lost something insignificant, like a sock. "Plutarch Ollivander has a daughter who is wealthy enough."

"I do not want another bride," Regulus says through gritted teeth. "It was only ever Vivian."

"Be sensible, son. Marriage and love have nothing to do with each other. You will marry, and you will continue our bloodline."

He knows he ought to accept. That's what Black men are meant to do. Why should he break the tradition now?

Regulus shakes his head. "If you try to arrange another wedding, I will kill her, you, and myself. Is that understood?"

The sudden hostility catches his father by surprise. All the older man can do is stare with wide eyes, mouthing wordlessly.

…

Years pass. They turn to decades, and he is still alone.

And yet he still carries his beloved's memory with him. At least he is not lonely.


	72. Finding Her Own

_Word Count: 460_

* * *

Cedrella still can't believe this is her life now. She sits in the garden, cup of tea lifted to her lips. Across from her sits her husband, and he is not the sort of man she thought she would marry.

She wasn't supposed to be able to follow in love and choose her own husband, but Septimus Weasley found her and changed everything.

 _Cedrella scowls when she sees him. She supposes Septimus Weasley is nice enough, but his last name means she's meant to hate him. Her parents have taught her that Weasleys are horrible blood traitors._

 _But he sits across from her in the library and offers her a smile. "Nice day, isn't it?" he asks, blue eyes sparkling._

 _She huffs and forces her attention back to her essay, dragging the quill over the parchment and copying notes. She will most certainly not think about how lovely his eyes are and how they put even the clearest skies to shame._

"Mother reckons we should do away with the ivy," Septimus says, gesturing toward the lush vines that climb the side of the house. "I think it gives the place character."

She laughs and shakes her head, chocolate curls thumping against her cheeks. "Of course you do," she teases, though she can't help but secretly agree with him.

Septimus has always been the type to do whatever someone tells him not to do. If she's honest, she is glad he's stubborn.

 _"I told you to leave me alone."_

 _Septimus rolls his eyes. "I'm not doing anything," he points out, and she hates that he's technically right. All he's doing is walking along the lake, keeping his distance from her, not speaking to her and doing anything else. "It's hardly my fault my presence seems to bother you."_

 _"You're a Weasley."_

 _"And you're a Black. Now that we've established our ancestry, care to tell me why you're so repulsed by me?"_

 _She wants to repeat herself but stops, frowning. Yes, he's a Weasley, but why is that so terrible? Her parents call them blood traitors, but she isn't sure what that actually means._

 _He seems to sense her hesitation, and the smile that stretches across his face is enough to make her melt. "So, Cedrella Black," he says, offering his hand, "would you like to walk with me?"_

"I am the one thing in life I can control," she mutters, sipping her tea.

Septimus sets his cup down, brows raising. "Come again?"

She shakes her head, laughing softly. It doesn't matter, really. This is her life. She's built it for herself, though she knows her parents would never approve. She has allowed herself to fall in love and find her own happiness.

All in all, she thinks it's a good life.


	73. The Price of Obedience

_Word Count: 786_

* * *

"Won't Alexia want breakfast as well, Mother?" Hesper asks as she watches the house-elf set a simple teacup on the silver serving tray.

The other house-elf, equally as nameless as the first because they aren't important and don't deserve the effort and energy, bustles past Hesper, carrying a basket of eggs that will be thrown into a skillet. Breakfast is Hesper's favorite meal. There are always so many delicious things. It seems unfair that her sister is only allowed tea. Alexia doesn't even get cream or sugar with her tea.

Her mother doesn't answer. Instead, she plucks a crystal vial with scarlet liquid inside and tips the contents into the cup. Hesper wants to ask, but her mother doesn't seem to be in the mood to answer questions this morning.

"Why don't you take this to your sister?" her mother asks, though her tone implies that it isn't a request.

Hesper nods, ever the obedient daughter. Without a word of protest, she grabs the tray and makes her way through the manor. Alexia's door is open to keep the air from getting stale. No one ever has to worry about her escaping. She's sitting on the floor, a shackle around her ankle that keeps her trapped in the room.

Mother says Alexia is mad, and Hesper can't help but agree.

"Alexia, I've brought your tea."

Her sister doesn't look up. She leans forward, staring at the floor. Hesper follows her gaze. The wood has been scratched mercilessly, and Alexia's fingernails are broken and jagged and caked with blood.

"Wouldn't you like some sunlight?" Hesper asks. "I can open the curtain."

Alexia looks up, pushing her matted hair from her eyes. A shrill giggle spills from her lips. "Sun? I'm not your son," she says, rocking back and forth. "I'm not your son. Not…"

It hurts to see her like this, but it's how she's been as long as Hesper can remember. No one knows what's wrong with her, only that she's dangerous.

Alexia's eyes find Hesper's. "Tea?" She reaches out her hand, moving as close as the chain will allow. "Tea… Yes. Yes. Tea is good. We want the tea. May we have it?"

Hesper relinquishes the cup. Alexia slurps it down greedily before dropping the teacup. At first Hesper thinks it's an oncoming fit and prepares to take cover, but then Alexia falls back, shaking violently. Foam appears around her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head.

"Help!" Hesper screams, frozen and too afraid to move. "Please!"

She hears footsteps behind. A moment later, Licorus appears, pushing her out of the way. Good. He is a man, and he was allowed to go to Hogwarts. If anyone can save Alexia, it's him.

Phoebe appears right behind, pausing at Hesper's side. "Is she breathing?" Phoebe asks their brother. "Is she going to survive this?"

The look on Licorus' face says it all. Alexia falls still, and Hesper can feel the weight of the truth in the air. Alexia is dead.

"What did you give her?" Licorus asks, dark eyes accusing as they find Hesper's.

She shakes her head. "Just her tea! I swear!"

But that isn't quite true. There is something scarlet, something unknown. Something that has killed her sister.

…

"You poisoned her," Hesper says quietly.

Her mother doesn't look up from her book. "If you were a clever girl, you might have recognized the venom," she says simply, no remorse in her tone. "Your own ignorance killed her."

Hesper shakes her head. It isn't her fault! How could she know? She isn't special enough to go to Hogwarts, even though she received her letter. She knows nothing about venoms and poisons, and it isn't fair.

Her mother closes the book and sets it aside. A cold smile tugs at her thin lips as she climbs to her feet and makes her way closer. "You didn't mean to," she says. "And that's why you're going to be a good girl and do whatever Mother tells you, isn't it? You wouldn't want to end up in Azkaban for your crime."

"I didn't do anything."

"The house-elves will remember seeing you slip something into the tea. A very potent venom I use for beauty potions will mysteriously be missing." She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "Which is why you really ought to be my good girl. Is that understood?"

Realization dawns on her and she hates herself for being so complicit. Her mother set her up as a way to control her. There's no way out. "I understand," she whispers.

"It was a gift, I assure you. Now your sister is free from those nasty voices in her head."

"Yes, Mother."

"Good girl."


	74. Home to Stay

_Word Count: 456_

* * *

"You're late for tea," Ursula says when Phineas finally appears at the table in her music room. Though her tone is firm, he can see the way her lips quirk, threatening to crack into a smile.

"Hogwarts," he says with a shudder. "All those awful brats, keeping me away from my love. I have to resign."

He won't, of course. Phineas enjoys the power that comes with being the headmaster, and the fear and respect he manages to draw so naturally from the children.

The thunder rumbles outside, reminding him exactly why he's late today. Sometimes he thinks the whole bloody castle would fall apart without him. Merlin knows he's tired of having to instruct professors on how to handle crying first years who are afraid of a little thunderstorm.

Yappy, their house-elf places the tray of tea on the table before bowing low. "Yappy will be bringing Master Phineas and Mistress Ursula theys food soon," she assures them before hurrying off with a squeak.

Phineas frowns, absently twisting his wedding ring as he studies his wife. Somehow, the years have only made her more beautiful. Her dark hair is streaked with grey, and there are faint lines around her eyes, but she still has a certain youthfulness about her, and Phineas can't seem to look away.

"It's rude to stare," she says, lightly smacking his hand with a rolled up newspaper and drawing him back to the present.

Phineas clears his throat and offers her an apologetic smile before dropping a cube of sugar into his tea and stirring. "Apologies, my love," he says. "I was entertaining an idea."

Ursula chuckles. "That's dangerous. The last time you entertained an idea, you became a headmaster."

And that's exactly what's on his mind now. His position is filled with glory and adoration, but, in the end, is it really enough? At the end of the day, the power cannot keep him from his misery, and he finds himself discovering new, more elaborate reasons to hate children.

"I have to resign."

"You've said that already."

He shakes his head and looks up at her. "I mean it."

This is where his happiness is. That school and those annoying children keep him from that. He loves the notoriety, but even that pales in comparison to the way Ursula makes him feel.

"Phineas?" Her brows raise, and her lips part as she studies him, seeming to search for some joke in his words. "Why would you resign?"

"Because I would rather retire and spend my days with you."

At that moment, Yappy returns, carrying a tray of plump juicy peach slices and sandwiches.

"Something more special, Yappy," Ursula says. "Today is one of celebration. Phineas is coming home to stay."


	75. His Own

_Word Count: 448_

* * *

It's happening again, and there isn't a damn thing Cygnus can do about it. At the end of the day, his wealth is meaningless; all the gold in the world cannot force his wife to remain faithful. Druella has always been a wild thing. He was a fool to think he could ever tame her when her heart belongs so wholly to Abraxas.

Anger softens into something more painful as he sits in his chair at his desk. The family cat, disgruntled by his arrival, hisses before bolting from beneath the desk. Cygnus watches in run, little more than a blur of black as it darts from his office. Defeated, he leans forward.

What is the point anymore? As long as he knows his wife is out there, throwing herself at Abraxas Malfoy, wrapping herself in scandal, his mind will never find peace. A sharp, sudden pain in his chest makes him double over. He sucks in breath after breath, but it does nothing to calm him.

"Daddy?" Narcissa appears in the doorway, thin as a twig and clutching her beloved wooden duck for dear life.

Seeing her hurts more than knowing what Druella is up to. Though Cygnus loves his youngest daughter with all his heart, he knows the truth. Narcissa isn't his. Her skin is just a little _too_ ivory, and that shade of blonde matches Abraxas' almost perfectly. Druella would never confess to it, and Cygnus pretends not to notice.

In the end, it does not matter. Narcissa is his daughter. Nothing could ever change that.

"What is it, dear girl?" he asks.

"I had a bad dream."

Cygnus doesn't know what to do. Summoning a house-elf seems to be the most obvious solution. Neither he nor Druella know the first thing about tending to a child. Why would Narcissa seek him out?

But that's exactly what keeps him from summoning Franny. Narcissa wants _him._

He climbs to his feet and makes his way over. Why does she have to look like the perfect balance between Druella and Abraxas? It makes his chest ache.

He picks the four year old up, amazed by how light she is. In the morning, he will make sure she gets extra food at breakfast. She is far too small.

He feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Druella will never be faithful to him, but it does not matter. This is his love, his family. It isn't perfect, but he will make it his own.

"Let's get you back to bed, princess," he says.

She wraps her tiny arms around him and rests her head on his chest. Blood means nothing. For all intents and purposes, Narcissa is his.


	76. In the End

_Word Count: 450_

* * *

Alphard startles awake, sick to his stomach. The dream was so vivid, so real. Snapshots of it flash through his mind, even with his eyes open.

 _Sirius is small. Too small. Alphard would even call him frail. When he tries to express his concerns, Walburga waves him away._

He pinches the bridge of his nose, trembling. Why must this haunt him now? Alphard doesn't have much time left in this world. Can he not just die in peace.

 _Sirius' pale skin is bruised. Alphard asks, but his nephew tells him it's nothing, that he's terribly clumsy and hit his arm against the table. Alphard knows better; tables don't leave long, finger-shaped bruises._

He should have done more, should have helped him.

Hands still shaking violently, he summons a moist sponge, dabbing it against the sweat that beads his clammy skin. The nightmares have only gotten worse. Something tells him the terror will only grow. Perhaps he's finally getting a taste of the Black family insanity. Perhaps his mind is finally slipping to the point of no return.

He looks up, jumping at the sudden roar of the wind and rain outside. "Easy, Alphard," he tells himself, staring at his pitiful reflection in the intricately-crafted gold mirror. "No need to scare yourself into an early grave."

 _When Alphard confronts his sister about Sirius' welfare, Walburga is angry. How dare he question her? What right does he have? He doesn't even have children, and he wouldn't understand._

"Dotty! Dotty, come here!"

The house-elf appears at his side, bowing. "What can Dotty be helping Master Alphard with?" she asks.

"Fetch me my will," he says, summoning a quill and ink. "I have alterations to make."

She doesn't question it. With another bow, she disappears again, leaving Alphard alone with the memories that haunt him.

 _"Why can't I live with you?" Sirius asks._

 _"I'm a busy man, dear boy. I cannot take care of you and live my own life."_

 _When his nephew looks crestfallen at that, Alphard rests a hand on his shoulder. He promises Sirius it will get better, but Alphard isn't so sure about that anymore._

He looks around at all the fancy, pretty treasures he has collected over the years. Between them and the gold in his vault, he has never had to struggle or go without. But it had been for nothing. In the end, gold cannot bring hims comfort. He is alone, save for his faithful servant.

"This is the only way I can protect my legacy," he tells himself. "The boy gets everything."

He could not protect Sirius when he was younger, but maybe, just maybe, this will be enough to make it right in the end.


	77. Childish No More

_Word Count: 586_

* * *

Licorus swirls the wine in his glass, glancing down and smiling at the sight before him. Xavier looks so glorious like this: chest bare, sheet draped over his waist, blond curls a mess. He wishes he could stay in this moment forever, but he knows how impossible that is. Their meetings must always come to an end because he is a Black who must uphold his family's reputation. Magenta will be waiting for him.

"Run away with me for the summer," Xavier murmurs.

"What an elaborate scheme," Licorus teases. "I'm proud. It's so complex that they'll never suspect a thing."

Blue eyes rolling, Xavier sits up, taking the glass from Licorus and drinking deeply. His pale skin is stained with a soft blush that makes Licorus want him even more.

"Since when did you care about how elaborate something is?" Xavier asks. "I thought you only cared about your own satisfaction."

Licorus smirks and leans in, capturing Xavier's lips in a kiss. As he pulls away, he takes the wine back and sets it aside. "I care about your satisfaction as well. I'm not completely selfish."

Why is he thinking about it? It's such an impossible thing. No excuse could ever satisfy his wife. Even if he tells her it's for business or any other lie that really ought to work. Magenta knows that they are not unbreakable, that his heart will never be hers.

Shouldn't that make it easier? Shouldn't he before than willing to just walk away? He does not care about her, and their children are hardly worth it. The Black family has its heir; that ought to be enough. Why shouldn't he be able to focus on himself, to find his own happiness? He has spent his entire life doing what is expected of him. Isn't it his turn to do something for himself?

Licorus can't help but chuckle at the thought. Has he really become such a selfish bastard? Xavier is right; he _does_ only care about his own satisfaction. Still, he cannot believe he's _this_ self-absorbed.

"My father left me a lovely little cottage in the woods," Xavier tells him. "You would love it."

Licorus is sure he would, but he will never know. He cannot have a life with Xavier. While it's all fine and well to meet in secret and have brief affairs when no one is around, playing house and pretending they have a chance to build something is childish and impossible. They are no longer children. As much as it pains him, he has to let go of his silly dreams of running away and falling so deeply in love that nothing can ever bring him back.

It's time to grow up. He will never love Magenta, but that does not matter. She is his, and he as a duty to fulfill.

"I really should go," Licorus says, climbing out of bed and retrieving his trousers from the floor. "We can never be anything more than this, Xavier."

"More than what? What am I to you?"

Licorus wants to tell him, but he isn't sure if there are any words that can adequately express how he feels about him. If soulmates exist, he is certain that he and Xavier are meant for forever.

Instead, he buttons his shirt and grabs his cloak, pulling it on and raising the hood. "I've paid for the night," he says. "You are free to stay."

And with that, he walks away and tries to pretend it isn't killing him inside.


	78. Accepting Love

_Word Count:_ 372

* * *

Narcissa can think of a thousand things she would rather do than walk along the beach with Lucius. She knows it's all for the sake of appearances. As long as they look happy, their parents will be satisfied; they will have done their job.

She pauses and stares out at the horizon. The sun dances across the ripples that disrupt the tranquil turquoise waters. As the wind blows, whipping her blonde hair against her face, she can't help thinking that maybe it isn't so bad.

The thought is short-lived. Lucius appears at her side, slipping his hand into hers, and she can't pull away because someone might notice. "I do hope you learn to love me one day, Narcissa."

She tries not to laugh. Why should he worry about that? Everyone knows that marriages aren't about love. They're about a duty to the family, and he will be free to take on a mistress. "Why?"

"Because I'm worried no one else will have me."

The sheer vulnerability of the admission leaves Narcissa speechless. She stares at him, blinking slowly as she tries to process what he's said. Lucius' arrogance is stripped away, and there is only sincerity in his wintry eyes. "You could have your pick of women."

It's no secret that he has quite a few admirers. If her father had rejected the marriage arrangement, it would have been simple to find another.

"And yet I only want you," he says quietly.

She turns in time to see an albatross cry out as it takes flight. Her eyes remain fixed upon it until it is little more than a dot in the distance. With nothing else to look at and distract her, she returns her attention to Lucius. "Why?" she asks again.

"Ah, my dear Cissa," he says, and there's no denying the adoration in each syllable. "What man in his right mind wouldn't want you?"

She glances at her bare feet, toes digging into the warm sand. Maybe Lucius isn't so bad. At the very least, there are countless men out there who are much worse. This engagement doesn't have to be miserable.

"Let's keep walking," she says, taking his hand.

She can find her own happiness with him somehow.


	79. A Happy Birthday

_Word Count: 488_

 _Note on pronouns: Despite being a trans man, Phoebe's pronouns remain she/her. This is because, given the time period and the strict Black upbringing, I feel that Phoebe wouldn't have known that pronoun changing was an option_

* * *

"Come now, my love." Moira's hand rests on Phoebe's shoulder. "It won't do to look so glum on your birthday."

Phoebe looks up, smiling despite her sadness. There's something about Moira that never fails to make her melt. Today, her girlfriend wears a flour-covered apron, no doubt because she's been hard at work preparing a cake. Her wild curls are pinned in place with a decorative pin studded with emeralds. "I'm just thinking," Phoebe says. She hesitates before adding, "About my family."

She knows she doesn't need to do that. They still believe that she is their daughter. Only Eduardus has been kind enough to call her his brother; then again, he has long since been disowned, so he has very little left in common with their family.

Most days, Phoebe can ignore the grief in her heart. Her birthday is different. Only a year ago, her mother was planning her future and telling her how beautiful she is. Phoebe doesn't want that, of course. She is a man, despite this female body she has been cursed with. Still, she misses the way her family once loved her and accepted.

They don't even know where she is anymore. On Moira's seventeenth birthday, the two of them ran and haven't looked back.

"Just an observation," Moira says, sitting in Phoebe's lap and wrapping her arms around Phoebe's neck, "but I'm realizing that maybe… Sorry. You are the only enemy you ever seem to lose to. You let them get in your head, and they have no place there anymore. If you let them live there, it will destroy you."

Phoebe's lips quirk. "Am I really that transparent?"

Moira's soft laughter warms Phoebe's heart. "I guess I just know you too well." Moira presses a chaste kiss to Phoebe's lips. "And I hold this radical belief that you deserve to be happy, and your family can shove their traditions and beliefs where the sun doesn't shine."

Phoebe is so lucky to have Moira. There are days like this where she feels so weak, and Moira is the only thing in her life that makes the world make sense. She thinks she might have given up long ago if Moira hadn't been the one to tell her it's okay and she is valid.

Moira climbs out of her lap and pulls Phoebe to her feet. "See? No being upset on your birthday," she says, her voice soft and teasing. "It's not allowed."

Phoebe wraps her arms around her girlfriend, holding her close. "Just for you," she murmurs.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you a gift," Moira tells her, pulling away. "I do hope the cake is okay."

"You are my gift." Phoebe smirks. "Though I am waiting until tonight to unwrap you."

It shouldn't matter that her family would never love or accept her. She will live her life, and she will always have love because Moira is by her side.


	80. Chosen

_Word Count: 430_

* * *

As a Black, Iola always imagined her wedding would be some elegant affair that would make headlines. Everyone would care about who she marries, and she would be the talk of the town for weeks.

She never wanted that. Maybe that's why she's chosen her own path. Instead of going through with the arranged marriage and becoming Iola Goyle, she has chosen this life for herself; she has chosen a Muggle who makes her feel carefree and happy and all the things she never got to experience when she was younger.

Their wedding isn't anything special. It's nighttime, and no one is around to witness it except for Bob's mother and two sisters. Iola wears a plain violet dress, while Bob is dressed in grey trousers and a peach shirt.

Her lips twitch into a small grin. Her parents would be appalled by the simplicity of it. They don't understand that love can transcend all else, that it's the only thing needed in a marriage.

"Am I dreaming?" she whispers. "Is this really happening?"

Bob takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "It is most definitely happening," he assures her.

"Good."

…

The reception is slightly larger. A few of Bob's friends and relatives bring food and drink. Caroline from the down the road has even brought a cake.

"You look troubled," Bob says.

Iola frowns, swallowing dryly. Reluctantly, she nods. "I…" She takes a deep breath. "I want to know that you will not regret marrying me. We come from different worlds, and I worry that you will grow to fear me."

He knows the truth about her, of course. Once Iola began to fall, she felt it was crucial for him to know. Bob didn't seem to mind; once again, he was nothing at all like the Muggles her parents warned her about as a child.

"I'm not afraid," he tells her. "I know who I married."

She nods, forcing herself to relax. He loves her; that's all that should matter. Hasn't he proven time and time again that he can handle her being a witch? It's time to accept that. After all, he wouldn't have married her if he had any doubts in his mind.

"The cake looks delicious," she says, taking his hand and smiling up at him. "Shall we cut it?"

This is her life, her new beginning. It is nothing like what she was told to her expect, and that's okay. She has found her own way, her own happiness, and this is her new start.


	81. Better Than Flamel

_Alchemy, task 3: Write about trying to achieve perfection_

 _Word Count: 709_

 _Warning: insanity, vampirism, and general Black family fuckery_

* * *

The girl cries when Elladora enters the room. The poor fool does not know how lucky she is; she should feel privileged.

"I know, dear," Elladora says, moving closer, dark eyes narrowing as she studies the girl. "I know. You must be awfully frightened."

She is pretty enough, for a Muggle. Her creamy-white cheeks are stained with a pink reminiscent of rose petals. Her golden curls are enviable.

But it's her eyes that Elladora loves the most. They are a beautiful green, like a lush forest, and they make her very nearly perfect.

"You see, it is necessary," Elladora continues, flicking her wand and guiding the girl along. She secures the rope to the hook above, hanging her upside down. "For so long, I could use house-elf blood to maintain my youthful glow. It isn't enough anymore…"

She doesn't know what changed, but she can hardly stand to look in the mirror anymore. Lines have resurfaced, cutting their way across her pale face. Her grey eyes have become highlighted by puffy dark circles.

She will not stand for it. Elladora has come too far in her quest for perfection. She has made far too many sacrifices to have it taken away from her now.

House-elf blood was never destined to last. The pathetic beasts are too far below her. She should have known it would come to this. The rejuvenating properties were not enough and faded far too fast. Perhaps it's the difference in species that has lead to this.

But it doesn't matter now. Elladora has found her solution. Perfection is just within her grasp; all she has to do is reach out and take it.

"Have you ever met a vampire?" Elladora asks, raising her brows as she studies the girl.

The Muggle's response is muffled, but Elladora doubts it's an answer. She has spent the entire time crying and thrashing about. Elladora isn't even sure if she's listening at all.

"I suppose you wouldn't have. Your kind believe vampires are just things of legend." She laughs at that. "Vampires are frozen forever at the age they were turned, but if they don't drink blood… Well, I have never met one of the filthy leeches, but I'm told it isn't pretty."

With another wave of her wand, she guides the marble basin across the floor, bringing it to a stop directly under the girl.

"Your blood is filthy," she murmurs. "I believe a proper Mudblood would be better suited for this task, but the community is ridiculous. They are protecting the Mudbloods and losing sight of the way things ought to be. Now, do calm down, dear. I'm told adrenaline makes the blood taste bitter."

As Elladora draws the silver athame, the girl's struggles become more frantic and desperate. Elladora scowls. How is she supposed to get anything done if the stupid girl won't even be still?

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ The spell erupts from the tip of her wand, locking her prey in place. Elladora smiles and steps closer. "Much better."

With that, she presses the blade to the Muggle's throat and slowly draws it across her silky skin. Crimson blood flows, streaking her face as it fills the basin below.

…

Elladora sits in front of the mirror, wine glass in hand. To the untrained eye, it may look like she has taken a liking to pinot noir, but she knows the truth. It is not wine that she sips, but her special elixir, her sacred key to perfection.

She takes a sip, swallowing the blood down quickly. The metallic tang lingers on her tongue, but she doesn't mind it at all. It is a reminder that she is closer to her goal, that she will achieve perfection at any cost.

A wicked smile tugs at her lips as she studies her reflection. The lines will fill themselves in, and her dark circles will fade. She can already see the glossy shine returning to her lackluster curls.

A triumphant smile bubbles from her throat. Flamel's precious Stone might produce the Elixir of Life, but Elladora is certain it cannot compare to this. Flamel can only extend his life; Elladora can perfect hers.

With that, she lifts the glass to her lips again, swallowing down every last drop.


	82. One Last Dance

_Muggle Music, task 3: write about asking someone to dance_

 _Word Count:_ 706

* * *

Druella sits beside Cygnus, keeping her back painfully straight, her posture rigid. As of half an hour ago, she is a Black, and the Blacks are so much more concerned with appearances than the Rosiers ever were. If she allows herself to slip, she runs the risk of ruining everything.

"Why do you not smile?" Cygnus asks, his dark eyes hardening and making the question sound more like an accusation, like Druella has somehow betrayed him by not smiling.

Her painted lips quirk ever so slightly. The smile feels false, and she just knows Cygnus can see through it. If he notices anything wrong, he doesn't say anything. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he returns his attention to his glass of wine.

"Druella, dear." Walburga approaches their table, offering Druella a smile. "Will you give me the pleasure of sharing a dance?"

Druella swallows dryly, surprised by how bold Walburga is. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. What can she say to a request like that, even if she wants nothing more than to feel Walburga's soft skin against her own?

Cygnus scoffs. "Really, Walburga?" he asks. "Do you realize how inappropriate that is?"

Druella knows how scandalous it could be. If anyone saw them and got the wrong idea… Well, it would be the _right_ idea. Druella has always wanted to be a Black, but not like this. She once dreamt of running away with Walburga and finding a way to live happily ever after in a cozy cottage by the sea. In the end, they had abandoned those dreams in favor of family honor.

Now she is a Black, and she is doomed to hate her husband for the rest of her life.

"Inappropriate?" Walburga snorts, grey eyes rolling. "It is only inappropriate to those who would not recognize innocence if it slapped them in the face." She holds out her hand, offering Druella a pearly smile. "Will you dance with me?"

Druella instinctively looks at Cygnus, silently seeking his approval. When he offers her a subtle nod, she climbs to her feet and accepts Walburga's hand, allowing the other woman to lead her to the dance floor. Violins sound, playing a slow, beautiful song that is easy dance to.

"He is right, you know," Druella murmurs. "What will people think when they see?"

Walburga shakes her head. A dark curl comes loose and falls in her face. "Simple minds will find anything to discuss, my love," she says. "This may be my final time to hold you. Is it not beautiful? I can do this so openly, and no one will even think to bat an eye or question it."

And she is right. Even as they dance, their bodies closer than simply friends, the other guests are too caught up in their own lives. Even Cygnus has lost interest in them and has fallen into a deep conversation with Caspian Nott.

She wants to laugh. They are hiding in plain sight. There's a scandal occurring in broad daylight, and no one is paying them any mind at all.

"I will miss you, Druella," Walburga says softly.

"Not as much as I will miss you," Druella assures her.

She wonders if there's still hope. Could the two of them run off this very moment? Could they find a way to make it? Druella doubts it, but she still clings to it.

As the music slows to a stop, so do they. Druella lingers, still so close to Walburga that it would take no effort at all to capture her lips in a kiss

But that would be too much. Someone would be bound to notice.

Walburga pulls away, pausing before taking Druella's hands gently in her own. "I wish you only happiness."

Druella doubts she will ever have happiness again. Still, just because her heart is breaking, doesn't mean she has to break Walburga's as well. She smiles, another forced and fake smile. "Thank you for the dance."

If only the music could have played forever. She wishes she could dance for an eternity with Walburga. Instead, she turns and returns to Cygnus' side, wondering why it feels like she is turning her back on her destiny.


	83. Simplicity and Comfort

_Word Count: 650_

* * *

"Can I get a waffle?" Charlus asks. "Can I please get a waffle?"

Dorea laughs softly under her breath as she continues to cook. Her style is half-magic, half-Muggle, thanks to her once-estranged brother's help. "Will you ever grow up?" she asks before glancing at her husband, a soft smile on my lips. "Actually, that's not a question I need answered. I know you won't."

Charlus' expression changes to one of mock offense. He rests his palm against his chest over his lemon yellow robes. "There's just… nothing left," he says. "I don't have the energy to go on, Dorea! Look at me, all skin and bones."

She does look, and it only makes her laugh harder. Though her husband is still quite slender, he is not scrawny; her cooking has allowed him to put on a bit of weight over the past year. She watches in amusement as Charlus desperately tries to suck in his gut. "Some people have no business attending a dignified tea," she teases before cracking an egg and letting it drop onto the skillet with a satisfying sizzle. "You happen to be one of them."

With that, she waves her wand. An array of fresh fruit find their way to the table. With another flick of her wrist, the knife begins peeling and cutting them as needed. She's gotten quite good at this. It seems like only yesterday Marius was teaching her how not to burn everything in the kitchen. Her brother would be quite proud. She would have to invite him over for dinner one night.

"Fruit, eggs, bacon," Charlus says. "Where is the sugar, Dorea?"

Another wave of her wand, and she summons the kettle and pours the water over the tea leaves within. "Sugar is on the table."

He doesn't seem amused. With an exaggerated huff, he ignores the tea and sets about, searching. She isn't quite sure what he's looking for, but she has learned to let Charlus go his own way. It makes her own life much easier sometimes.

"Aha!" He stands triumphantly, holding up a chocolate chip cookie from the batch Marius left with them a week ago. To her knowledge, they were all eaten. Charlus must have stashed one a way, the silly man. "See? Sugar?"

She watches as he bites into it, seemingly satisfied by its sweetness. Dorea studies him for a moment longer before returning her focus to the task at hand. She takes the spatula and deftly flips the eggs over, letting them cook a moment longer.

"You really shouldn't eat sweets before a meal," she chides, nothing but affection in her tone. "Ruins the appetite."

"I assure you, Dorea, my love," he says, "nothing could ever ruin my appetite where your cooking is concerned."

With a blush, she removes the eggs from the pan, dropping them onto the plates beside the bacon. She never thought this would be her life. Growing up, she had house-elves to tend to her every want and need. She was spoiled, in her own way.

But she likes it like this. There is something exhilarating about making something with her own two hands. Sometimes Charlus helps; when he doesn't, he makes it up to her by washing the dishes after.

She never knew that domestic bliss was possible. Her own parents were married out of duty, and her childhood home had been a cold and strict one.

But Charlus has opened her eyes to how beautiful the world can be. Charlus has shown her what it truly means to love someone.

And as she sits down at the table with her husband, she finds herself smiling. Pollux keeps up appearances, hosting lavish parties to show off Black gold. Even Cassiopeia plays her part. But Dorea doesn't need extravagance and luxury. What she has here, this simple and comfortable life with a man who loves her, is more than enough.


	84. In Wait

_Word Count: 381_

* * *

Andromeda is halfway to the Black Lake, trekking through the thick blanket of snow, when Bellatrix finds her. On the best of days, Andromeda would much rather avoid her sister. Today, there's something in Bellatrix's eyes that tell her she should run for her life.

"You're barking up the wrong tree, woodchuck," Bellatrix says.

Andromeda blushes, and the color manages to warm through her frozen cheeks. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"The Mudblood."

Andromeda swallows. She had assumed she and Ted were careful. How could Bellatrix know about it?

"If I had even a fraction of your talent, I would not waste it on that boy," Bellatrix tells her, adjusting her hat to shield her dark curls from the snow.

There's no use in denying it. Andromeda doesn't know how Bellatrix knows, but she does. Playing dumb would only lead to tension, and she doesn't want that. She tugs at the sleeve of her grey jumper, wondering exactly how to go about this.

"I control my life," she says, the words falling from her lips without a second thought. "Not you."

Her sister's eyes widen before narrowing. She takes a step closer, and Andromeda watches her warily. "Don't be a fool, Andi," she says. "What can a Mudblood give you? He is nothing, and I will not sit by and watch my sister ruin her own life!"

"I'm not ruining anything!" Andromeda snaps. "I've made my decision, and I'm sticking to it. You don't get to boss me around just because you're older! I'm not scared of you."

Bellatrix's face softens, and Andromeda can see a flicker of pain in her features. "I don't want you to be scared of me. I just want you to realize what you're doing. You're better than him."

Andromeda wonders if she can fix this. She will not give Ted up, but she still has a few years before she can choose him without suffering from her parents' pureblood mania. If she can smooth things out and play pretend, maybe things can be okay for a little longer.

"You're right," she says. "I deserve better."

Ted is waiting for her at the lake, but Andromeda thinks he will understand. For now, she will play her part. They will find a way through this.


	85. He Loves Me

_Word Count: 675_

 _Warning: abuse, miscarriage_

* * *

The day Charis Black marries Caspar Crouch is the happiest day of her life. She's always longed to fulfill her duty and become the wife of a prominent pureblood. Truthfully, it does not hurt that Caspar is easy on the eyes.

He is charming and good, and Charis knows that happiness is laid out before her.

"Shall we dance?" He extends his hand, holding his head high. There is no emotion in his voice or gesture, but Charis knows he must love her.

"I would love to."

…

It takes two days to see his darkness.

Charis is outside, charming the clothes onto the line so that they can drive. It is servants' work, but she likes to keep busy. Besides, the house-elves are all inside, tending to the cooking and cleaning. It will be some time before they are able to make it out here to finish the laundry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Charis turns, smiling brightly. Caspar will be so proud of her; she just knows it. "I was hanging the laundry on the line, my love," she says.

Caspar stops directly in front of her, nostrils flaring. Red splotches rise over his pale skin. He draws back before striking her sharply, his palm stinging her cheek. "And what if someone saw you?" he demands, slapping her again. "Do you realize what they may say if my wife is outside acting like a servant?"

"I-I'm sorry," she says, tears stinging her eyes. "I was not thinking."

"Clearly." He grabs her by the arm, his fingers digging bruises into her skin. "Inside. Now."

…

He doesn't apologize. Charis quickly realizes that he never does. It happens again and again.

The smallest things set him off: moving the chair in the bedroom so that she can look outside from the window, decorating the kitchen with fresh roses from the garden, wearing a new perfume Callidora sent her. Nothing she does is ever good enough for him.

But she loves him. And she knows he loves her too. This is more than a marriage arranged out of duty.

At least that's what she tells herself. He only hurts her because he loves her. If she doesn't continue with this mantra in her head, the truth might be too much.

…

She comes home from visiting her sister five minutes after dinner is served. Caspar splashes the steaming soup in her face and calls her a whore before smashing the bowl on the table.

Charis screams and the burns rise up on her skin. Dovey, their oldest house-elf, leads her away, promising to fix her right up.

…

He loves her. He only hurts her because he loves her. She is so, so, so lucky to have a husband who is so concerned about her.

It's starting to feel hollow, but recites the words over and over in her head, trying so desperately to believe them.

…

Her dress is a little too tight around her breasts. Caspar slaps her before gripping the dress and ripping it. When Charis protests, reminding him this is a gift from her father, a dress made from the finest silk in China, he simply shoves her.

The bleeding starts. She doesn't understand. It is not yet her time to bleed.

Dovey is by her side. "It is being okay, Mistress," she soothes. "Dovey is taking care of you."

…

She was pregnant, and now the baby is gone.

Charis is numb as the Dovey helps her into the tub and pours warm water in. The Healers say it will take some time to adjust to, that she is still in shock.

"Mistress must not be blaming Master Caspar," Dovey says before adding scented oils to the water.

Charis almost laughs. She does not blame him. It is her fault. Her job is to provide him with an heir, and she has lost a potential one because she dressed so foolishly.

Caspar loves her. She will not let him down again, not when he loves her so much.


	86. Reunited

_Word Count:_ 461

* * *

"I didn't think you would come."

Marius clears his throat, awkwardly ruffling his dark curls. Truthfully, he wasn't sure either. Not until about an hour before.

His family abandoned him because he is a Squib. He doesn't owe them anything.

But he cannot walk away from Dorea. Despite all the pain and resentment over the years, his sister stayed in his mind. Deep down, he knows he has always been loyal to her; maybe, in a different life, he would have been a Hufflepuff.

"Does he respect you?" Marius asks, frowning as the thought suddenly occurs to him. He knows that far too many pureblood men believe that women are little more than their property. If any man thinks he can own Dorea… It doesn't matter that Marius cannot use magic; he knows how to settle things with his fists when necessary.

Dorea laughs, and the sound sets him at ease. Her smile is so bright as she holds out her hand. Marius accepts it.

"You always watched out for me, Mar," she says with a soft laugh.

"Someone had to keep you out of trouble. You are far too devilish for your own good."

She lets go of his hand and turns, staring at her reflection. "Charlus is so good to me," she tells him, adjusting the gold pendant around her neck. "Father doesn't approve, but he hasn't disowned me. The Potters are still a good enough family for him, I suppose."

Marius snorts, adjusting his glasses. He still remembers his family's twisted idea of what was important. Names, wealth, blood. He might have believed in it once. Now be knows how quickly family can go away, how easy it is for them to turn their backs on those they're meant to love.

But not Dorea. In the end, Dorea is good and precious. Despite everything she was taught, she dared to reach out to her Squib brother. It warms his heart to know that his loyalty is returned.

"I'm glad you are happy, dear sister," he tells her. "Are you nervous?"

She laughs, and the sound is enough to answer his question. Of course she's nervous. How can she not be? She is making a huge commitment that she will honor for the rest of her life. Only a fool would be calm right now.

"I'm doing the right thing," she says, taking a deep breath.

Marius smiles and nods. Though he has never met Charlus, he trusts her judgement. If she loves him and thinks he is good, Marius can live with it. As long as Dorea is happy.

"Will you walk me down the aisle?" she asks. "Father refused to come, and Pollux hates Charlus."

Marius links his arm with hers, grinning. "It would be an honor."


End file.
